


The Price

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, First Time, M/M, zine story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What price mercy?  For Starsky, ultimately it must be a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in _Venice Place Chronicles VI_ (2006) by Venice Place Press
> 
> For my favorite Bird, Flamingo.

_Do your lips still call my name?_  
Would your mouth still taste the same?  
There I learned the sweetest words  
What price mercy yet?  
Though I steal all across the years, the memory lingers on  
All my heart in your hand  
All my heart in your hand

—Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, _Heart in Your Hand_

  
  
  
  
  
  


**S** tarsky laughed painfully, and Hutch took in a sharp breath at the sound. It was the kind of laugh that could tear his heart to shreds if he let himself listen. Instead, Hutch laughed too, ignoring the hollow echo, and pulled the card from Terry’s gift.

“ _Take care of them both, and don’t let either of them change._ ”As Hutch read her final words, he knew the task would be more difficult than Terry could have imagined. In the past two weeks since her death, Starsky had yet to vent any of the rage Hutch knew must be burning just beneath his sternum like a wild beast waiting to slip its master’s leash.

Hutch could only hope he would be there when it happened.

~*~*~

“Just cut it out, willya?” Starsky snapped in a whisper to Hutch, grimacing when Hutch looked quickly away again. But Starsky had had his fill of the almost constant glances, and the careful way Hutch had been around him lately, as if he were going to break in two.

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t anything, really—except hot, and tired, and frustrated with the endless drone of legalese and court mumbo-jumbo. Hutch had urged him to give the sentencing hearing a miss, but Starsky was goddamned if he was going to let Prudholm get shipped back to the can without offering him some final, righteous words on Terry’s behalf.

Prudholm’s pansy-assed, slickly dressed defense attorney, Anderson, was going on again, this time about how hard-struck the poor man had been by his son’s untimely death, how it had driven him to the edge. Starsky felt anger starting to boil inside him, the blood rushing to flood his neck and ears as Anderson tried to implicate him in the sequence of events, citing the “...Uncompromising cruelty of the officer who had arrested Gary Prudholm on circumstantial evidence, forcing him to await his appeal in prison at an age when he was ill-equipped to defend himself against the dangerous criminals there.”

Starsky felt the pressure of Hutch’s leg against his and realized that his own thighs were tensed, his hands knotted into fists as if he were about to spring over the bench seats and pound the snake-tongued sonofabitch into a sticky film. With an effort, Starsky relaxed his hands, and Hutch’s shoulder pressed against him in acknowledgement.

And then it was time for statements from the victim’s family. Terry’s mother and sister had decided not to come; they lived too far away, they said, but Starsky had heard the undercurrent of their helpless grief. What possible good could it do for them to drag their emotions out again this long after Terry had passed, and in front of the cruel man who had torn their hearts out?

What good could it do Starsky? He could’ve waited outside for the bailiff, except he couldn’t conceive of not being here. When his name was finally called, he rose and strode to the podium set next to the witness box. He adjusted the microphone and stared directly into Prudholm’s bitter, gray face. The man jolted in his chair as if Starsky’s hatred had struck him physically, and Starsky’s lips curled, baring his teeth.

“You’re a monster, Prudholm,” Starsky said, and smiled more broadly when Prudholm registered his anger with a jerk of his chin. “Anderson may say you’re insane, but you and I both know you were aware of every evil act you did. It’s all just a game to you. But it wasn’t to Terry Roberts.” Starsky had to pause, his voice going dry on him. “Terry was an innocent. Your boy was not. He was a bad seed from the get-go, just like his loser father.”

Prudholm made a sound and moved as if to rise, but Anderson grabbed his arm and said something in his ear.

Starsky was just warming up. “If Gary had survived prison, he would’ve been in and out of the slam the rest of his life, just like his old man. The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Prudholm?

“But if Terry had survived…” Starsky’s throat closed and he had to swallow hard before continuing, “…If Terry had lived, she would have spent her whole life doing good works for her special kids, teaching them self-respect and love. That was Terry. That was the innocent life you destroyed. That’s why you’re nothing, Prudholm—or worse than nothing. You’re rotting garbage. Just like your loser son. You think about that, every day and night while you’re locked up in that tiny cell, going stir-crazy staring at the walls. You think about what you destroyed.

“And meanwhile, I’ll still be out here, putting away two-bit drug dealers like your son every day, cleaning up the streets in Terry’s name.”

He had to stop then or break down in front of the bastard who had destroyed his dreams. Starsky stepped away from the mic, for the first time looking away from Prudholm and turning his eyes to his partner.

Hutch’s head was bowed, and as Starsky walked back to join him, he saw Hutch surreptitiously wipe a quick hand down his face. _Hutch’ll do my crying for me. I don’t have the luxury._

Just as Starsky passed the defense table he shot one more glance at Prudholm. The man’s wet, mealy mouth was working as if he wanted to say something, but Anderson’s hand was still tightly grasping his elbow. Starsky reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge to slap it against his palm. _Get it, motherfucker? You didn’t win. I’m still a cop. That was the price you wanted to stop your killing. You even wanted me to lose it and kill you in cold blood. But I didn’t. Terry told me to keep on being a cop, and that’s what I’ll do._

Starsky broke his stare and returned to his seat. He listened intently as Anderson made his final plea for a reduced sentence based on “reasons of insanity.” Starsky couldn’t tell if the judge bought it or not. Beside him, he could sense Hutch’s outpouring of worry, but he couldn’t let it distract him from Anderson’s words or the judge’s expression.

The judge recessed to deliberate, and Starsky made his usual trip to the bathroom for luck. He leaned over the sink, curling his fingers over the edge and holding on tight. _Prudholm is nothing—a monster, a bug. But Anderson…he’s worse, in a way. Standing there so smooth in his two-hundred dollar suit and his shiny shoes, telling lies and defending the worst scum there is._

Starsky splashed some water on his face and dried off with a brown paper towel. He returned to his seat to wait.

Hutch was shifting restlessly on the hard wooden bench, and Starsky caught the movement as he reached to rub his lower back. It had never really healed from his car accident. Starsky was tempted to tell him just to go, but he knew Hutch wouldn’t listen, even though his back would probably seize up and he wouldn’t be able to do anything this weekend.

Not that the weekend wasn’t shot, anyway. For the past few months Hutch had been spending all his free time with Starsky, as if afraid to leave him alone for a second. It was stupid. Starsky knew Christine wasn’t yet a serious girlfriend, but at the rate Hutch was neglecting her she’d be gone before they’d even had a chance. Then Hutch would be back to his usual one-night stands and pick-ups.

Starsky didn’t want that. Didn’t want Hutch to sacrifice a nice girl to go back to the nightlife. He especially didn’t want Hutch to start picking up guys again, as he had been on and off over the past year. It really made Starsky uncomfortable, but he never let on, knowing it was a touchy subject. And though Hutch never mentioned those particular “dates,” Starsky could always tell when Hutch had been off prowling on the other side of the street. Something about the way Hutch acted the next day always tipped him off.

“Why don’t you just go? Your back’s gonna get all kinked up if you don’t get off this bench,” Starsky said wearily.

Hutch didn’t turn his head. “Don’t be a dummy,” he said, giving Starsky’s leg a squeeze.

Starsky shifted away subtly, and Hutch’s hand dropped. Didn’t Hutch know that he didn’t want all this goddamn kindness all the time? It was driving him crazy—the constant looks of concern and the too-gentle voice he’d been using since Terry had…left. _I don’t want to feel it. Stop trying to make me._

At last the judge returned and laid out the sentence. Thirty years, no possibility of parole. Starsky gritted his teeth in anger; it should have been Life, at least. Hell, it should have been Death. _Ah, Terry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Can’t even say I put him away for good for you._ Starsky rose quickly and pushed past some other spectators to head for the door, heedless of the bailiff’s attempt to try to stop him from violating court etiquette.

Starsky plunged outside and sucked in the cooler air of the corridor, taking deep breaths until his head stopped pounding. Reaching up to loosen the tie around his neck, he stalked down the hallway and out through the back door of the courthouse. He’d parked the Torino out there so he wouldn’t have to face the stupid reporters with their idiotic questions about whether justice had been served.

Justice was never served in this place.

_I need a drink—make that plural._ With a tortured squeal, the Torino responded as he pulled away from the curb and aimed it toward the Pits.

~*~*~

_Damn it, Starsky,_ Hutch thought angrily as, after half an hour, he finally, _finally_ managed to flag down an empty cab. He got in and directed the driver toward the only place he could imagine Starsky going at this point, the Pits. Only, why in God’s name would he leave without his partner? _Doesn’t he think I understand? After Gillian? That bastard Grossman only got fifteen fucking years._

Except maybe Starsky didn’t think the two situations could compare. After all, Gillian had been a hooker. Hutch hardly even winced anymore at the thought. Too much had happened since to make him realize he hadn’t truly understood, back then, what love was really all about. It wasn’t about pretty, lying lips and green eyes that betrayed a world-weary wisdom. No, love had eyes of deep blue, and hairy knuckles, and a persistent, improbable innocence that needed his protection.

Only right now, love was hurting, and Hutch couldn’t help. Couldn’t ease its pain, and couldn’t stop the blows that were being delivered by the callous hands of Chance. He could only just _be_ there.

Except the sonofabitch had left him behind.

Hutch leaned forward and told the cabbie to step on it.

~*~*~

“And then—get this, Huggy—I told that twisted fucker his son was a sack of shit, just like his old man. Well, in so many words.”

Huggy watched Starsky toss back the rest of the shot and motion for another with his glass.

“I think your stomach ain’t caught up with the last one, yet,” Huggy said, but Starsky frowned at him fiercely, so he shrugged and poured him another double. “At this rate I’m gonna have to roll you up the stairs to my crash pad before the evening even begins, my brother. You sure I can’t draw you a brew instead?”

“Fuck that. And fuck crashing—I’m gonna be here all night, Hug. I have plans to destroy at least half my brain cells, and I know just the way to do it.” Starsky drank back the fresh shot and gestured again.

Huggy grimaced and poured, but Starsky only took a sip before putting it down. Then he spun around on the bar-stool and staggered over to the pinball machine. As Huggy watched, Starsky dug a couple of quarters out of his slacks and started to play. Huggy turned to his other customers with a sigh.

The bar was getting busy, and the noise level had risen to the point that he didn’t, at first, notice the angry sounds coming from the direction of the pinball machine until a loud smash dragged his attention over. Then he watched in dismay as Starsky repeated the noise by hauling up the front of the unit and dropping it down again on its front legs.

Huggy rushed around the corner of the bar to confront the drunken cop. “Damn it, Starsky, that’s an expensive piece of equipment you’re messin’ with.” He put his hand on top of the glass to prevent another attempt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Starsky looked over at him and then deliberately lifted Huggy’s hand from the machine. “What’m doing is trying to get this piece of crap to play fair. Damned thing took my extra-play ball.” Starsky made as if to lift the front of the unit again, but a large pair of hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him off.

Huggy was glad to recognize the blond half of the duo. But his relief was short-lived. Starsky spun and pushed Hutch backward with his open palms. “Buzz off, Blondie, this ain’t your fight,” Starsky joked with thinly veiled anger. “Just gonna teach this thing a lesson in justice.”

“Don’t you think we’ve seen enough ‘justice’ for one day?” Hutch asked quietly, the pain in his voice evident to Huggy, who took the opportunity to interpose himself between Starsky and the pinball machine.

“We ain’t _never_ gonna see it,” Starsky said, his tone low and dangerous. “Because assholes like Anderson get paid to circumnavigate it.”

“Circumvent, you mean,” Hutch said, and then immediately winced.

“Circumfuckin’ FUCK it,” Starsky said, his voice hoarse. His shoulders hitched up and he lifted his hand, fist clenched.

Huggy shot Hutch a glance from over Starsky’s shoulder. _Smooth move, Blondie._ He eased out from behind the angry cop, no longer worried about the pinball machine. At this point, he was worried Starsky would start breaking heads instead. He looked to Hutch but got waved off with a subtle motion. Huggy nodded and went back behind the bar, giving them both a little space, but watching the proceedings carefully.

“Starsk,” Hutch said soothingly, “You’re right. Circum-fuck it. Let’s get out of here, what do you say?”

“I say I need another drink,” Starsky said, and strode back to the bar. He grabbed the shot of whiskey sitting in front of Huggy and made short work of it. Huggy exchanged a glance with Hutch, who moved to Starsky’s side.

“Babe,” Huggy heard Hutch say softly, “let me take you home, huh?”

“So concerned, aren’t ya,” Starsky said, and his tone made Huggy wince. He couldn’t remember Starsky ever talking to his friend like that before. _Man, that boy is **hurtin’**._

Starsky went on, his voice getting uglier, “You’re so worried about me, Hutch—maybe ’cause it’s your fault, too. You were the one who stopped me from offing that bastard the first time I had him in my sights.”

Huggy watched the blond head drop, and he just had to say something. “Starsky, you know that ain’t fair. You wouldn’t be the cop you are if you’d just shot the dude in cold blood.”

“Oh, yeah?” Starsky’s words were slurred, and he leaned down on the bar with one elbow, pointing with his finger. “Well maybe you don’t know me as good as you think, man. Because I was one ounce-a pressure from wasting that motherfucker. But Mr. Goody Two-Shoes here had something to say about it.” Starsky turned his head to lift his lip in a sneer. “That’s mercy for ya, huh, Hutch? Only, what about for Terry…or for me? And then Prudholm gets a measly thirty years on the _court’s_ mercy, just because that slimy snake Anderson stands there and lies to the judge with his slick, pretty mouth. That little, cocksucking _faggot_.”

Huggy reared back, about to get ugly himself, but something happened then, almost too quick for him to catch. He saw the weirdest expression cross Hutch’s face, and all of a sudden Starsky’s jaw shut with a snap, and he lowered his head onto his forearm as if too weary to hold it up any longer.

“Hug,” Hutch said, his voice a little thin, “how much do we owe you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled a twenty out of his wallet and dropped it on the bar. “Let me know if that doesn’t cover it, or if there’s any damage to the pinball machine.”

“Yeah, you got it, amigo,” Huggy said weakly.

“Sorry about…all this,” Hutch said, and he tugged gently at Starsky’s arm. “C’mon, buddy. I’m taking you home.”

Starsky went without a fight, even leaning against his partner a little as Hutch guided him slowly out the door.

Huggy went over to the pinball machine and hit the reset button, thinking about what he had just seen—the anger and blame in Starsky’s face, and the shame and pain on Hutch’s. And Huggy had spent too many years surviving by observing people to miss what had been written plain as day on those even, white bread features.

_Color me surprised, but I do believe our blond cowboy was some wounded by that last remark._

Huggy shook his head and poured himself a beer to give the brother a toast.

~*~*~

_He won’t remember any of this tomorrow,_ Hutch said to himself, trying to talk out the ache in his gut. _He’s drunk out of his head. Starsky’s no bigot; he didn’t mean any of it._ But Hutch felt a wave of nausea that belied the thought.

Starsky was slumped next to him in the Torino, his forehead resting against the glass of the passenger window. He was either asleep or faking it.

Hutch pulled up in front of Starsky’s apartment and shut off the engine. _Help him upstairs and into bed, then cut out. Maybe by morning this will all be like a bad trip._ His thoughts were interrupted by a distressed sound coming from his partner, who shoved the door open to lean out, a coughing noise coming from his throat.

Hutch hurried out of the car to round the front. Starsky was hanging half out the door, his left hand braced on the armrest.

“C’mon. I think you’ll enjoy tossing your cookies better in the comfort of your own bathroom,” Hutch said, helping his moaning partner out and up the driveway. They took the stairs in an awkward side-by-side shuffle, Hutch keeping a supporting hand on Starsky’s waist.

Once inside, Starsky gasped something and broke away to stumble to the bathroom. The ensuing gagging noises were enough to rekindle Hutch’s own nausea, and he went to the kitchen to splash some cold water on his face.

_I always knew he didn’t approve. Or not “approve” so much as…isn’t comfortable with the idea. He doesn’t like to think about it. But I never knew he… **hates**. _ The idea that Starsky could hate anything about him was terrifying. Hutch couldn’t bear to entertain the thought.

Unfortunately, he was pretty sure he would be thinking about nothing else for a long, long time. _Not to mention the small little detail that Starsky blames me for Terry’s death._ Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. He heard the toilet flush and then the sink running in the bathroom, and suddenly he knew he had to get out right away or risk losing it in front of his drunken, angry partner. _I’ll borrow the Torino, bring it back tomorrow._ Hutch dried off his hands and headed for the door.

Just one second too late.

“Don’t go.” Starsky’s voice was harsh and throat-sore. Hutch stopped automatically in the act of reaching for the knob, but then forced himself to grab it and open the door.

“Get some rest. And don’t forget to drink a lot of water,” Hutch said gruffly. He started to walk out.

“Please. Please, Hutch,” Starsky said, sounding almost sober. The undercurrent of pain in his voice kept Hutch frozen in the doorway.

_How does he do that? How does he keep me when I don’t want to stay? I can’t. I can’t stay and listen to a fumbling apology—or worse, more ugliness._

“Tomorrow, okay?” Hutch realized he was begging. He firmed his shoulders and turned to face Starsky, who was still standing in the bathroom, one hand propped on the doorway. His face was ash, and the dark curls were damp on his forehead. _Christ,_ Hutch thought, _even when he looks like shit, I still can’t stand how beautiful he is._

“Tomorrow…is too late, Hutch,” Starsky said. He weaved forward to collapse on the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees with his hands out, pleading. “I can’t take it, what I said tonight. What I’m thinkin’ you must be thinkin’. If I weren’t trying so hard not to puke, I would’ve said something in the car….”

Hutch clenched his teeth against the tearing pain in his chest. _Don’t say anything. Just shut up before you make it worse._ But his unruly mouth opened without his approval to ask, “What do you-do you think I’m th-thinking?” His stupid tongue stammered on the words, and he almost bit it he shut his mouth so fast. He could feel the muscles of his jaw twitching as he waited for the answer.

“For starters…that I blame you for Terry, for stopping me from killing Prudholm. You know that’s not true, Hutch. You know I would’ve hated myself if I’d done it. And I wouldn’t be a cop anymore if I had.” Starsky was slurring only a little, and he sounded deathly sincere. Hutch felt something in his chest relax a bit, some of his guilt easing away like a silent ghost.

“Okay, man. I understand. Today was rough.” Hutch started to turn.

“That’s not all,” Starsky said, his throat making an audible click as he swallowed. Hutch shivered with dread and waited for the rest.

“What was worse is the idea of you thinking that…I…that I think of you like… _him_. Like what I said at Huggy’s,” Starsky said, the gray of his face suddenly swamped by a flush of red.

“ _Don’t_ you?” Hutch challenged. Chagrined at his own anger and Starsky’s immediate wince, he softened his tone. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just—can we not talk about this tonight? I hear you—you’re sorry, okay? Let it go for now, Starsky. Because I don’t think you’re up for a deep conversation about this.” Hutch felt pride in managing that much without his mouth making a fool of him. He turned again to leave.

“No. No! Please, Hutch.”

_God, how long are we going to do this?_ Hutch turned back again warily.

“Hutch. Please, close the door and siddown, okay? Just for a minute.”

Hutch sighed internally and did as Starsky asked, perching on the edge of the armchair opposite the couch. His stomach was doing that dance again, the one that said it was about two minutes from trying to exit through this throat. Hutch swallowed hard.

Starsky’s bleary eyes stared earnestly at him. “What I said—that was the Brooklyn in me. Pure and simple. You hafta know that. You have to know I don’t think about you like—”

“Do I?” Hutch interrupted, helpless to stop himself, and was surprised at how much anger he felt at that moment. “How the _fuck_ do I have to know that, when you never _talk_ to me about it? When you seem to get freaked when you even guess that I’ve been with a guy some night? When you said what you said tonight with so much—”

“No!” Starsky interrupted in turn, his hand out as if to stop Hutch’s next words by force. “Please. Just listen, okay? Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it, but not because of what you’re thinking, I swear.

“You ‘n’ me, Hutch, we’ve always been…just us. In everything. You’re the only one I trust in this stupid world. I _know_ you know that, even if every so often it seems like I have to convince you all over again. Usually when something’s bugging you and you don’t want to tell me, like you’re afraid I won’t like you anymore afterward. But it never made any difference to me. I _know_ you. Nothing you do or think could ever surprise me, not really, not in a bad way.

“But when you told me about your new thing, about dating guys, I got really afraid for the first time. That there was something that was different…between-us different, I mean. That there was something you did that I didn’t do, something not as silly as drinking that goat’s milk stuff. Something…basic. You read me?”

Hutch nodded briefly, somewhat mesmerized by the stream of words, and by the fact Starsky actually was talking about _them_ —the two of them—something they never did. They both always seemed to take it for granted—what they were together, and why. But now Starsky was laying out what he felt about the two of them. Hutch was intrigued, in spite of himself.

“So, I think that’s why I was afraid to talk about it. Like it threatened us. Me and thee. But this other crap with Anderson,” Starsky’s voice went shaky. “That was wrong. That was hate—the wrong kind of hate—I know it, and I’m sorry. But it was because I’m so sick with it, Hutch. I’m so sick with what happened, not just today, but over Terry, still. God. It’s so fucking unfair—”

And then, to Hutch’s utter surprise, for the third time that evening Starsky did the completely unexpected. He started to weep. Hard. Harsh sobbing breaths escaped him, and he put his hands over his face.

_Oh, God._ It no longer mattered whether or not Starsky had meant the hateful words. Hutch could no more resist his partner’s pain than he could refuse his cry for cover in a firefight. Hutch rose from the chair to join Starsky on the couch, putting his left arm around his shoulder and reeling him in until Starsky’s dark head was tight against Hutch’s chest.

“Okay, buddy. It’s okay. Just let go of it,” Hutch murmured, hardly aware of what he was saying. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He held Starsky’s shaking body against his, his own throat closing in sympathy as he listened to the tortured, jagged breaths. Starsky cried for a long time, his tears soaking through Hutch’s shirt until he felt the warm dampness on his chest. Hutch just kept him as close as he could. Finally Starsky ground to a shuddering halt and raised a hand to wipe his nose on his sleeve.

“Disgusting,” Hutch joked softly, and heard a soggy answering snort. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

“Fucking Boy Scout,” Starsky muttered in a choked voice, but took it.

It seemed to be a signal to release him, so Hutch did, and slid over on the couch to put some space between them. In spite of what had just happened, and as welcome as it was to finally see Starsky let loose with his tightly-held grief, Hutch still felt uncertain their partnership and friendship weren’t damaged by the evening’s events. And he was tired, too tired to fit what Starsky had said earlier into the puzzle.

“I’m gonna go,” Hutch said awkwardly, only to have Starsky lunge over to grab hold of his arm.

“You can’t! We ain’t done!” Starsky sounded frantic, his voice like gravel after the further abuse to his throat.

Hutch sighed and looked pointedly down at his arm, but Starsky didn’t release him. “Starsk, you still have a lot to work out in your head. And I don’t think I can help you, because right now I’m…not sure of anything.”

“What’re you talking about?” Starsky said, his voice panicky. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you, what I said earlier?”

“Sure, I understand that part. And I believe you, that you-you didn’t mean what it sounded like—”

“What did it sound like, to you?”

Starsky’s grip tightened when Hutch closed his eyes. _Don’t make me say it._ Hutch begged silently, but Starsky shook him a little.

“What do you think?” Hutch said rapidly, wanting it to be over. “I thought you hated me, of course. Or I thought there was something about me you hated, and that’s the worst thing I...just don’t...don’t tell me if you do, okay? I can live with it if-if I don’t have to _know_.”

“Christ! Hutch,” Starsky groaned, and his grip on Hutch’s arm grew painfully tight. He reached out with his other hand and clutched Hutch’s opposite shoulder, then he hauled at it until he was looking Hutch dead in the eye.

“Never. I could _never_ hate you. Not anything about you. I swear it. I’ll swear it up and down until I’m blue.” Starsky’s eyes were locked on his desperately. “Fuck, I’ll get down on my knees and give you a blow job myself if that’ll prove it.”

Hutch tore himself away—an immediate, instinctive reaction that had him up and standing by the door before he realized he had moved. “Shut up. Shut _up_. Don’t ever say _anything_ like that to me again.” Hutch felt the panic like a frantic animal scrabbling at the walls of his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

Starsky stared up at him, obviously startled into silence.

“Look,” Hutch said, forcing himself to calm down, “let’s just forget tonight ever happened, okay? I really want that.” _I want it so bad. So bad._ “Get some sleep, drink some water, take a couple of aspirin. And call me in the morning,” Hutch tried to make a joke of it, but his fear made his voice tight and uneven. He tried for a smile and turned to go, determined to get out the fucking door.

This time Starsky didn’t try to stop him.

~*~*~

Starsky went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth again to get rid of the lingering taste of vomit. And guilt. His breath was minty fresh when he was done, but he still felt a heaviness in his gut that wouldn’t quit.

He’d hurt Hutch bad tonight, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst part was Starsky _knew_ there were certain things he had to be careful of when it came to his partner, and one of them was not ever giving him any reason to doubt he was loved. Because Hutch was already too damned ready to disbelieve. He practically made a career of it. And here Starsky had pretty much proven him right with just a few hideous words. Shit like that could take forever to fix.

He should know, since it had taken just about forever to convince Hutch to believe in the first place.

_Fucking fuck-up_ , Starsky berated himself. He was still feeling somewhat drunk, but he’d always been able to hold his liquor pretty well. Most of his lack of control tonight, he had to admit, was the pure rage that had been brewing under his skin ever since Terry had…died. And today he had just boiled over with the worst possible result.

_He’s gotta know. He can’t believe I really would think that way about him. Like he’s something disgusting or awful. Just because of who he screws…God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like that before, not from something I did. He looked like I shot him through the heart. He looked like I killed something. And maybe I did._

Starsky’s head was really starting to give him hell. He took some aspirin, drank some extra water, and crawled into bed. His last thought before falling asleep was the image of Hutch standing across the room, fear on his face.

_Can this ever be fixed?_

~*~*~

Hutch drove the Torino home with careless anger, furious at himself. His reaction to Starsky’s facetious suggestion had made one thing horribly clear: it wasn’t fear of Starsky hating him that had been the cause of that final panic. Hutch’s flight across the room had been inspired by nothing less than the utter terror that strikes when someone offers you the thing you dream of having most in this world.

But of course it wasn’t a real offer, except of reassurance. For though Starsky didn’t hate him, as his earnest words proved, the idea of sex between two guys was something he just didn’t want to think about.

_And I must have been hoping. Just a tiny bit of hope, but enough. So fucking stupid._ Starsky could _never_ feel that way about him.

All this past year, Hutch had been jacking around with occasional one-night stands with both men and women, knowing the whole time in the back of his mind that nothing would ever come of it. The thought of trying to find a woman to love just filled him with despair and remorse. Too many failures, beginning with the first and most futile—Nancy. Or Vanessa, as she insisted on being called after moving out here. Beautiful, scheming, betraying Van, whom Hutch caught in bed with their real estate broker one night when the Police Academy let them out for an early weekend. Van, fucking the greasy, whiny rich guy with the designer shoes, one of which he ended up abandoning in his hurry to get out of the apartment before Hutch could cave in his face with his right fist.

The next woman he was truly serious about after that was Gillian.

No, Hutch was done with women for a while. But maybe it was goddamn time he stopped taunting himself with something he could never have, and finally settled for something he could. There had to be at least one man in Bay City who wanted a serious, if discreet, relationship; someone who wanted more than an all-night fuck session and a light breakfast the next morning. Hutch would find him, and put the ghost of his absurd dream to rest once and for all.

~*~*~

The next day, Starsky woke up late with a dry mouth and sandpaper eyes, a headache low in the base of his skull, and a wad of guilt in his throat that could choke a rhinoceros. After drinking three glasses of water and two cups of cold, day-old coffee to try to wash it down, he picked up the phone and dialed Hutch’s number before he could wimp out of it.

“Talk to me.” Hutch sounded all business.

“It’s me.”

There was an almost-soundless sigh, then, “Hey, Starsky.”

Starsky heard some wariness in Hutch’s tone, but he sounded remarkably normal, considering. Starsky took heart.

“Basketball today with the kids, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, Starsky. I was about to head over there. Kind of thought you’d be…skipping it today, though.”

“You…you want me to?” Starsky had to give him his space if he wanted it, but the idea of Hutch visiting Terry’s kids without him hurt a little.

“I didn’t say that. I just thought you’d be sporting a pretty good headache is all,” Hutch said, a little too patiently.

“Oh, I’m fine. Really. I’ll see you over there,” Starsky said, cutting the connection before he could bitch anything else up.

Of course, he discovered as soon as he charged out the door that he had forgotten Hutch had taken the Torino. By the time he’d called a cab he was running seriously late, but when he arrived at the court Hutch had the kids in hand.

Everything seemed okay. Hutch, in that goofy green and yellow sweat suit of his, was his usual jive-talking self on the court, making fun of Starsky’s brick shots and getting the kids to double- and triple-team him. Hutch smiled broadly when one of the kids latched onto Starsky’s leg and wouldn’t let go, forcing Starsky to haul him along in his staggering bid for a lay-up.

It wasn’t until after the game that Starsky started to notice something was amiss, and it was so subtle a thing he had a hard time pinning it down. It was like the scent of a particular plant that, unconsciously, he was used to smelling in the air, but was suddenly absent. It took him a long time to realize what was happening—or, more accurately, what _wasn’t_ happening.

Hutch wasn’t touching him.

At least, not beyond incidental contact on the court, or bumping by him to get to his towel on the picnic bench. What made Starsky aware of it finally was when he reached out himself to slap a hand on Hutch’s shoulder, and Hutch immediately leaned down to tie his shoelace. Starsky’s hand slipped off, and he got his first inkling that something was wrong. Later, at the Torino, Starsky squeezed Hutch’s arm, and Hutch chose that moment to wave goodbye to Sally, one of the kids; again, his movement cut the contact short.

That’s when Starsky became certain, and he felt his face tingle with embarrassment.

What was he supposed to say? It was a small thing, but important. Maybe it was even an unconscious reaction on Hutch’s part, a pulling away.

“Breakfast at my place?” Starsky asked, his voice a little rough. Hutch gave him a surprised look. Perhaps for the question in Starsky’s voice, since they usually did eat at Starsky’s right after the game. It was Starsky’s way of saying thanks for the way Hutch continued to help with Terry’s kids.

“Drop me at my apartment to clean up first,” Hutch said.

Starsky nodded and drove them over to Venice Place, chewing silently on the problem as he traced the familiar route. Hutch’s stiff body language was disturbingly similar to the patterns of his behavior when Starsky had first met him in the Academy, in those early days before they’d learned to trust one another.

Starsky cast an occasional look over at his partner, remembering the first time he had reached out to Hutch, and the surprise on Hutch’s face when Starsky had squeezed his shoulder with rough familiarity. _“Take it easy, Blondie. I ain’t comin’ onto you or nothin’,”_ he remembered saying.

A couple of weeks later Hutch had oh-so-casually put an arm around his back when Starsky had learned his childhood pet, Arco, had died. It didn’t matter that the gesture was stilted, the arm a little stiff against him. Starsky had leaned in gratefully and, for a while, was comforted for the loss of his old friend by the awareness he was gaining a new one.

The stiffness remained for a little while after that, but eventually it slipped away, so gradually that Starsky didn’t notice the change. All he knew was that having Hutch touch him had become as natural as air. And now that might be lost.

Starsky dropped Hutch at Venice Place and drove home to get busy making eggs and toast. By the time Hutch arrived the coffee was ready too, and Starsky was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup, still mulling over how to broach the subject of what was bugging him. Hutch had said he wanted to forget what had happened, but it was already changing things. Starsky couldn’t accept that.

“Hey,” Hutch said, coming in after a quick knock. “Smells good.” He walked over to the table and sat down, then helped himself to some eggs. Starsky poured him a cup of coffee.

They talked about the kids over breakfast, about how much progress Sally had made. And little Anne, who had barely been willing to raise her head the first time Starsky and Hutch had come to meet the kids, but who now would come running and jump into their arms at first sight.

“She likes me better,” Hutch said somewhat smugly. “Says your face is all scratchy.”

Starsky made a grimace, but was inwardly pleased at the casual banter. He was about to respond with a comeback about stubble being more manly when, thankfully, his tongue twisted in his mouth. “Guh,” was what came out.

“Guh, huh?” Hutch smiled slightly, obviously not aware of Starsky almost sticking his foot in it. “Well, I guess you got me there, partner,” he kidded, and rose to start clearing the table. Since Starsky had made breakfast, Hutch would be doing the dishes.

Starsky sat back and finished his second cup, pondering what had just happened. Maybe he should have said it. Was he now supposed to watch every smart remark he made around Hutch?

When Hutch had first told Starsky he’d decided to date guys, Starsky had gone through a short period where he was almost afraid to make their usual jokes. It was the first time he actually realized how much their banter sounded like come-ons.

After a while, though, he stopped bothering to watch his tongue. Hutch never reacted any differently, except sometimes he would lift his brow a little before laughing, as if making note of the changed circumstances.

Starsky carried his dishes to the sink where Hutch stood with his hands buried in the soapy water. Starsky dropped his cup in, noting how Hutch’s hands moved to avoid his, and that he’d sidled to the right to put a little more space between them. The move angered Starsky, and he deliberately put his hand on Hutch’s back saying, “Want me to dry?”

Hutch turned to face him, the movement pulling his back from beneath Starsky’s hand. “Nah, that’s okay. Go see if there’s a game on.”

~*~*~

“Christ, Hooton couldn’t pitch his way out of a paper bag,” Hutch grumbled and sipped his beer, his eye on the game. Starsky had lost interest by the bottom of the fifth; the Giants were hurting the Dodgers four to one and, anyway, he was more interested in the fact that Hutch had chosen to watch the game from the other end of the couch.

Starsky thought about the night before, how Hutch had hugged him while he cried over Terry, hugged him in spite of the hurt Starsky had just done him. He still felt the ache for her in his chest, like an undigested lump of grief. The sense he was losing his closeness with Hutch only made it worse.

“You’re punishing me, is that it?” The words escaped him before Starsky knew what he was saying.

Hutch turned to look at him, surprise and confusion on his face.

“What?”

“I said you’re punishing me. I think maybe you don’t even realize it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hutch looked honestly puzzled and a little pissed off.

“Look at us, Hutch,” Starsky waved his hand. “When was the last time we sat four fucking feet from each other to watch a ball game?”

He saw Hutch take it in, the frown turning to awareness.

“You’re still mad about last night,” Starsky finished.

The expected denial was swift. “I’m not. Told you to forget that.”

“How can I,” Starsky shot back, “when it’s changing things already? Please, Hutch, don’t let some stupid words change us.” His voice was rough with disappointment.

“I’m _not_.” Hutch said firmly. “It’s not like I sit on your damned lap all the time, Starsky.” He reddened suddenly at his own words, and Starsky gave an involuntary snort of laughter at the image.

“Seriously,” Hutch said with a sigh. “Okay, maybe I…maybe some part of me is afraid you’ll…take it the wrong way.” His eyes were evasive.

“Have I ever? Since you told me? It’s stupid, Hutch. What I said was just stupid, ugly anger. It’s got nothing to do with us. Nothing to do with me and thee,” Starsky said as earnestly as he could. “Please, you gotta forgive me. Prove to me I haven’t fucked things up between us.”

He saw Hutch’s jaw firm as if resigning himself. To what, Starsky didn’t know. But Hutch scooted over a couple of feet and laid his hand awkwardly on Starsky’s knee. The jerkiness of the gesture made Starsky’s stomach hurt.

“Okay?” Hutch asked, giving him a squeeze.

That felt a little more natural. “Okay,” Starsky responded, smiling hesitantly. Hutch’s lips lifted a little and he turned back to the game.

Maybe it wasn’t all okay, but Starsky had to believe it would be.

All they needed was a little time.

~*~*~

Hutch steered the LTD into the parking lot at Metro, annoyed at hearing that clunky whine starting up again. He’d just gotten the damned thing back from Merle, who had sworn up and down he’d fixed the problem. Hutch could’ve called Starsky for a ride this morning, but he knew Starsky had been out late the night before on a date.

He was glad Starsky had finally started dating again, that he was finally trying to let go of the grief and guilt caused by Terry’s death. Hutch only wished he could find himself an equal distraction.

It was all very well and good for him to decide to date a man seriously, but it was another thing entirely to find one willing to be dated. And Hutch had, in the past months of trying, discovered an unpleasant truth: where before his one-night stands had always seemed to be oddly excited by him being a cop, any of the more serious prospects went screaming for the hills as soon as they learned of his chosen profession.

He sighed and went up to the squadroom. To his surprise, Starsky was already in and waiting.

“G’mornin’, Blintz.”

“Hey, buddy. Is the coffee fresh?”

“Well, hot enough to burn blisters, but the taste barely beats turpentine. Just.” Starsky got up and poured him a cup while Hutch pulled off his suede jacket and sat down.

“What do we have today?”

“Nothing hot from Dobey,” Starsky said, handing him the cup. “Soon as you drink that we should roll.”

Hutch gulped the vile stuff down and they headed out. The day was pretty uneventful, with the exception of one creep they caught exposing himself to a little girl in MacArthur Park. They took him in, and something about his sweaty face rang a bell for Hutch. He pulled out the Wanted memos from his in-box and shuffled through them.

“Well, well, looks like we got a match.” Hutch leaned forward and waved a sheet at the man, who had insisted his name was “Bob Smith.”

“Hey, Starsk, it seems ‘Bob’ here has a twin brother named Geoff Loomis who’s wanted for child molestation down in Encinitas.”

“Well whaddaya know about that?” Starsky said, and he grinned evilly at Loomis.

Ignoring the man’s stuttering denial, Starsky took the guy to get booked while Hutch made a phone call to the Encinitas PD. He spoke to a detective there who promised to come pick up their perp. Filling out the extradition forms and dealing with Loomis took up most of the afternoon.

At the end of their shift, Hutch cleaned up some last paperwork and then put on his jacket and looked back at Starsky, who was still pecking at the typewriter.

“You almost done? Wanna to go grab a pizza or something?” Hutch waited patiently for Starsky to finish typing before prompting him again. “Starsk?”

“Huh? Wha-no. I’ve got another date tonight. Sweet thing by the name of Clara.”

Another “sweet thing.” Of course, Starsky would never refer to a girl like that if she were someone he was considering seriously. _Ah, Starsk. Terry’s gone, babe. You think she wouldn’t have wanted you to move on, find someone worth the time?_ As much as Hutch dreaded seeing Starsky fall in love again, he feared even more his friend finding himself trapped in the same bitter, lonely well that Hutch had fallen into recently.

_He’ll be fine. He’s not like me, not willing to let himself wallow in a bad space._ Hutch knew he’d better find someone soon, himself. Someone to take his mind off the jealousy that would hit him when Starsky finally snagged a woman worthy of him.

Hutch clocked out and headed home to his empty apartment.

~*~*~

The air was humid, and rife with that late afternoon downtown stink, a weird mix of exhaust fumes, rotting fruit from the outdoor markets, and the machine oil smell of the nearby sweatshops.

“Ahh, the end of another gritty day in Bay City.” Starsky snorted a little and wished he had a cigar to chew on.

“Come to dinner tonight?” Hutch asked, and Starsky had time to register a faint hesitancy in his voice before Hutch added, “There’s somebody I…I want you to meet.”

_A guy. He wants me to meet a **guy**. Whoever he’s been seeing that’s put that sappy look on his face the last couple of weeks. Shit. _ Starsky had noticed the secretive phone calls and Hutch’s sudden lack of free time to hang out with him after work. He was pretty sure this was a test of some kind, the first real test of his comfort level with that side of Hutch’s life.

The only problem was Starsky had never been any damned good at tests. And he was about to fail this one before it even started, because he was taking too long with his answer. Hutch had started shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Of course,” Starsky said quickly, to forestall a stuttering withdrawal of the invitation.

He heard Hutch blow out his breath. “Great,” he said weakly. “Come over seven-ish?”

“Yeah, okay.”

_That gives me four whole hours to prepare_ , Starsky thought. _What the hell—I’ve always been a crammer._

Starsky cleared his throat and turned his head a bit, “So…who’s this somebody?’“ He pulled his car into the lot at Metro and found a spot right by the LTD.

Hutch shot him a look from beneath his pale lashes, almost too quick to see.

“Uh…someone I met about a month ago.” Hutch went on in a falsely bright tone, “Actually, I think you met him, too. He’s a brother cop. Rik Hohenstein.”

_A cop?_ “Yeah? Does he work here at Metro?” Starsky tried to hide the uneasiness the thought inspired.

“Uh-uh. Down in Encinitas. He came up with his partner one time to pick up that guy, Loomis, on extradition. Remember?”

_Oh, yeah_. Starsky nodded, remembering. That Loomis was a serious creep.

“Anyway, I took Rik down to lock-up to give him custody of Loomis, and we talked a little before he took off.” Hutch sounded really embarrassed now, and Starsky avoided looking over at him. “’Bout a week later he came back…on his own.”

Hutch left it at that, but Starsky could bet he knew just how it had gone down. This Rik guy had taken one look at Hutch’s tall, blond good looks, and maybe had said something funny that surprised Hutch into one of his rare smiles—that kind of smile that made folks just itch to see it again—and the guy had been hooked.

Poor sucker hadn’t stood a chance.

There was silence in the car, and Starsky could hear the ticking of the engine as it cooled down. He coughed a little. “So…you like him? I mean is he a good guy?”

Hutch said, his voice low and awkward, “Yeah. I do. He is.”

Starsky felt a shiver of something then—he couldn’t say what. It was weird talking to Hutch about a guy he was dating, but that wasn’t it. It was some low-level, anxious hum that Starsky couldn’t quite nail down. He needed time to himself to work it out.

“Okay, well I guess I’ll see for myself tonight,” he said, hoping Hutch would take the cue.

“Oh, okay.” Hutch did, obviously, because he got out of the car, but before he closed the door he leaned back in. “Do me a favor, huh? Go easy on him?”

“What, y’think I’m gonna give him the third degree or somethin’?” Starsky said, oddly irritated.

“No, just…” Hutch paused, and Starsky could tell he was searching for the right words. “I-I just want you to like him. That’s all.”

Starsky swallowed and nodded, and Hutch quietly shut the door.

~*~*~

Hutch dried his hands on his pants and took one last look at the table. Everything was perfect—or as perfect as it could be, considering he didn’t have three plates or three sets of silverware that matched. All the good stuff had gone with Vanessa, for her sense of a dramatic exit had not precluded her packing up everything of any value in their old place, including the china that had been a wedding gift from Hutch’s grandmother.

Still, it was worth it as the price of getting rid of her for good.

Hutch wasn’t sure why he was thinking of Vanessa tonight. Maybe it was because if things went well he might be embarking on his first serious relationship in a good long while.

Assuming Starsky and Rik liked each other. _God, what if they don’t?_ It had been the worry stewing in his head ever since he had invited his partner over. Rik, he knew, was bound to like Starsky. There was no one more friendly and sociable than Starsky; he picked up interesting people like a black suit picked up lint.

But if Starsky didn’t like Rik…then the relationship would be doomed before it could begin. Hutch had no illusions at all about where his loyalties lay.

The doorbell rang, and Hutch hurried to open it.

“Hey,” said the tall, good-looking man standing in his doorway.

“Hey, Rik,” Hutch said, and let his lover inside, closing the door before reaching for him. They kissed, and Hutch pulled him closer.

“It’s been a while,” Rik said, his green eyes gleaming at Hutch’s obvious hunger.

“Too long,” Hutch agreed. It was when they were together that Hutch regretted most the two-hour drive between them.

_That’s because you’re with Starsky the rest of the time,_ an evil voice in his head pointed out. Hutch ruthlessly shoved the thought away.

“So, where’s this legendary partner of yours?” Rik asked as he shrugged off his leather jacket. His gun, a Colt Browning automatic, hung snugly in its shoulder holster. Beneath the harness he was wearing a deep burgundy silk shirt. It set off his pale complexion amazingly, and for a moment Hutch just stood and stared. _What the hell is a guy like this doing hanging out with me?_

“Catch many flies with that?” Rik joked gently, and Hutch shut his mouth hastily.

“You look…fantastic,” Hutch said.

“You always say that like you’re surprised,” Rik said, and he gave a gentle smile. “I think you’re forgetting who the beauty is in this couple.”

“Oh, I know who’s the beauty,” Hutch said, and he walked over to stroke his hand across the short, light brown fuzz that covered the well-defined skull. He trapped Rik’s head between his hands and leaned in for another kiss, this time slipping his tongue possessively into Rik’s mouth, demonstrating his need. When their lips parted, Rik looked dazed.

“Yow. I mean.” Rik grinned, and Hutch smiled back.

A familiar knock rattled the door, and Hutch pulled himself out of his sexual haze with a start. _Starsky._ He brushed his hands through his hair and went to the door, not missing the trenchant glance Rik shot him. _Later,_ Hutch thought. If there _was_ going to be a later. It was all up to Starsky.

So strange how much of his happiness always rested in those particular hands.

“Hey,” Starsky said, sounding slightly breathless. Hutch knew instinctively that Starsky had pounded up both flights.

“You’re right on time,” Hutch said, and Starsky grinned like a school kid who had just earned a gold sticker.

Hutch let him in and wiped his suddenly damp palms on his thighs. He cleared his throat.

“Starsky, I believe you’ve already met Rik Hohenstein?” He hated the formal sound of his voice, that cool politeness he tended to fall back on when he was nervous.

“Call me Tracks,” Rik said easily, stepping forward to shake Starsky’s hand.

“Tracks?” Starsky questioned, looking at Hutch.

“That’s what they call him at the station,” Hutch said, smiling proudly. “Because he’s so damned fast, he makes—”

“Tracks,” Starsky finished. “Well, call me Dave, Tracks.”

“Not sure I could do that,” Rik said. He tilted his head. “Hutch talks about you so much, I guess you’re already ‘Starsky’ in my head.”

Starsky grinned more openly and nodded. “Suit yourself. So…” He pulled off his windbreaker and hung it up, scratching underneath his holster. “What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?” He turned to Hutch. “You’re being a rotten host, pal.”

Hutch had been so fascinated by the interplay between the two that it took him a second to realize he was being insulted. Then, to his dismay, he blushed.

“S-sorry.” He turned and went to the fridge quickly to hide his embarrassment. Normally, he’d kick back with a wisecrack of his own. But right now all he could think of was his two worlds were colliding, and the most important person from each one was standing face to face.

He felt naked.

Even more so when he opened the fridge and discovered the one thing he had utterly forgotten to put on his shopping list. “Uh,” he tossed back over his shoulder, “water okay with you guys?”

Rik laughed, and Starsky’s voice, filled with mock outrage, came floating over to him. “You forgot the drinks? Aw, Blintz!”

Hutch rejoined them, his head hanging. “I’m really sorry. I was so caught up in making the dinner that…look, why don’t you two hang out and get to know each other while I run down to the corner _bodega_.”

He flinched at the horrified glances they both aimed at him. Obviously, they weren’t ready to be left alone together.

“No way,” they both said, simultaneously, and then Rik nodded to Starsky, who continued, “I’ll do the shopping, Blondie. Rik drove all the way up here, he should get to…spend time with you.”

Hutch gave Starsky a grateful glance, and Starsky retrieved his jacket and walked to the door. He got one last shot in before he left.

“Really, Hutch. Miss Manners would have your ass in a sling.”

~*~*~

Starsky was down the steps and in the Torino in two shakes. He was just starting the engine when he suddenly remembered the bottle of wine he had bought for tonight and had promptly forgotten in the trunk. Too keyed up and nervous about meeting Rik, he guessed.

He shut off the engine and went back to grab the bottle. It was a pretty flashy vintage, a 1972 Cabernet Sauvignon. He’d enlisted the help of the wine shop dealer, wanting to make a good impression. Only now that he’d met Rik, he realized the guy would probably be happier with a six-pack, just like Hutch and him. Starsky didn’t know why he’d been expecting that Hutch would be seeing some refined, high-class…pretty boy. Starsky was embarrassed at how far off the mark he was.

Rik looked like any other cop, except, yeah, better looking than most. But from his haircut, Starsky was guessing the guy had been in the Service. He was built, too, almost as tall as Hutch, and certainly looked as strong.

Starsky grabbed the wine and trudged up the stairs. He’d noticed Rik’s slight frown when Starsky had ribbed Hutch about his hosting skills. _Looks like he wants to protect Hutch, too._ Part of him wanted to be pissed about it—that was _his_ job, after all. But he had to be honest with himself. If one of Hutch’s girlfriends had given Starsky that look, he would have thought it was just nice that she cared that much about Hutch. For some reason, though, having another guy think that way gave him an uncomfortable feeling.

_Get used to it. Hutch is seeing this guy. They’re **lovers**_.

Nothing brought that fact home more quickly than the sight that greeted him as he re-entered the apartment. The two of them had moved onto the deck, and through the window Starsky could see Hutch slouching back with his ankles crossed and his weight resting against the potting table. Rik was standing close to him, one arm around Hutch’s waist. And they were kissing.

Hutch was _kissing_ the guy. Starsky watched, absolutely fascinated. Hutch’s lips were clinging lazily to Rik’s, nibbling gently at them. Then Hutch raised his right hand and stroked Rik’s cheek, and Rik’s arm slipped from Hutch’s waist, his hand moving to Hutch’s groin. Hutch pulled his mouth away and said something, and Starsky heard them both laugh before Rik dropped his hand. Hutch smiled and laid a kiss on a near eyebrow, then rested his forehead against Rik’s.

Starsky backed away, his heart pounding with an unfamiliar panic. He quietly snuck out the door and stood on the landing a moment, just breathing. He was freaking, and he wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t like he had never seen two dudes kissing before.

Except it was Hutch doing the kissing, and seeing Hutch like that, _being_ that way with a guy, so natural and easy, like there was nothing wrong with it… _And there **isn’t** anything wrong with it_ , Starsky reminded himself firmly. He saw it again, Hutch’s mouth leisurely moving against Rik’s, and Rik’s hand landing possessively to grip Hutch’s cock. Then, the startled jerk of Hutch’s stomach as he registered the pressure.

Starsky felt a throb in his groin and realized he was semi-hard. His hand clenched the neck of the wine bottle. _Sexy. So goddamn sexy, seeing that._ Voyeurism, he guessed. Starsky had always enjoyed watching people get it on. Something about seeing the naked desire on their faces. There had been many times when he and Hutch were double-dating that Starsky would look up from his own date to watch Hutch working on his girl, loving and touching her with those big hands of his, but so gently, as if he were handling something precious.

Just like Hutch had stroked Rik’s cheek just now.

Starsky didn’t know why he had expected it to be different, somehow, between two men. He should have known that Hutch would still be Hutch, no matter who he was making love to.

But it was that last, too-familiar gesture of Hutch’s head tilting to meet Rik’s that had drummed Starsky’s heart into panicked overload. That kind of closeness was supposed to be reserved for _him_.

Starsky was hardly ever jealous of the affection Hutch gave his women. In the end, they could be no threat to what he and Hutch had between them. But Rik…Rik was a guy. A strong, good-looking, funny guy who cared about Hutch. Hutch could have everything with him.

It hurt. Man, it really hurt. Starsky thought his chest would implode with it, crushed by the sudden pressure of loss. _He won’t need me anymore._

In his head, he knew that wasn’t true. Their friendship was special, unique. He didn’t know anyone else—not any other partners or friends—as close as he and Hutch were. It was simple fact.

So, then why this hollow gut-ache? As if he’d lost something he’d never known he could lose?

_Hutch deserves love. He **deserves** happiness,_ Starsky told himself. _God knows his taste in women is so awful he’s sure never to find it there. And if I want him to have it with Rik, I’d better be damned careful for the next couple of hours._

For he knew instinctively that at the first sight Starsky didn’t approve of Rik, Hutch could very well end it. “ _I just want you to like him,” Hutch had said. But what he might as well have said was, “I **need** you to like him.”_

And the funny thing was, Starsky did. He’d felt an immediate liking of the brown-haired cop. Maybe it was even the way he’d frowned at Starsky after the Miss Manners comment. He obviously cared about Hutch, and anyone who did was pretty much okay in Starsky’s book.

He pulled himself together, easing his death grip on the bottle of Cabernet and ruffling his hair with his other hand. He turned the knob, saying, “All right, which one of you two jokers knows the right end of a corkscrew?” as he entered the apartment.

They both turned to look at him. Hutch was flushed, and his eyes were sparking an excited blue. _Guess they weren’t quite done smooching it up._

Hutch greeted him and came over to take the bottle. He raised his eyebrows when he read the label. “Nice,” was his comment, and he looked grateful.

_See? I’m trying, Hutch._ Starsky smiled at Rik and joined him at the table while Hutch fetched the corkscrew.

“Figured you more for a beer drinker, Starsky,” Rik said, “but I should’ve known you’d have untold depths for Hutch to keep you around all these years.” Rik’s tone was gently mocking, but there was admiration in the glance he threw Hutch’s way.

Hutch turned red.

Starsky grinned. “Hey, who kept who around?” he asked gruffly.

“Whom, Starsk. And you, that’s who. But only because I let you drive me around in that damned tomato.” Hutch’s lip quirked. “Annual winner of the World’s Most Idiotic Undercover Vehicle.”

“What’s this ‘tomato’?” Rik asked.

While Hutch dished food on their plates, Starsky went into his glowing spiel about the Torino’s V-8 and its other indispensable features. Hutch interjected sarcastic comments while Rik listened, smiling as if they were a comedy duo. Starsky didn’t miss the way Rik’s eyes kept drifting to Hutch, or how he smiled when Hutch griped about Coke cans that were recognizable at a hundred yards. _The guy is smitten,_ Starsky realized, and it gave his heart a little pang.

“So, Tracks, what department are you in down there at Encinitas?”

“Vice,” Rik answered and Starsky raised his eyebrows.

“That must be pretty tough on you, considering…” Starsky took a bite of his pasta, leaving the obvious unsaid.

“Yeah, well. Down south, you know, they don’t go in much for rousting gays or doing the entrapment thing. There’s a pretty large gay population, and some of ’em even have money and a little clout with the higher-ups.”

Hutch put in, “Rik was part of that Salduro drug bust that went down two months ago.”

Rik ducked his head. “I didn’t do that much—”

“Not much?” Hutch interrupted. “You were under for three weeks and gathered enough evidence to nail their fattest cat.” The unabashed pride in Hutch’s voice gave Starsky a twinge of envy. He ignored it.

“So, what kinda piece d’ya carry?” It was the standard question when meeting a fellow cop. Rik promptly pulled his gun and yanked the clip, then checked the safety before handing it over.

Starsky whistled appreciatively. “A .45, huh? I’ve always wanted one of these pretty Brownings. Great action, semi-automatic.” Starsky shot a mocking glance at Hutch, who gave a long-suffering sigh.

“See if you can work on this guy, Tracks,” Starsky said. “Damned fool is still carrying a revolver.”

“Yeah, but it’s a _big_ revolver,” Hutch returned. “And everyone knows revolvers are less likely to jam—”

“Seriously, Rik. Work on him. Maybe use your sexual wiles or something.”

Hutch’s eyes opened wide and he choked on his wine. Rik burst out laughing. He had a pretty good laugh, Starsky had to admit. Deep and husky.

Starsky passed back the Colt, and Rik asked to see the Beretta. They spent a pleasant time talking guns and their favorite trick shots. Starsky felt comfortable, and glad seeing how goddamn happy Hutch looked interacting with Rik. Sure, Starsky’s unease was still there, hanging low in his stomach, but he no longer felt nervous or weird about the two of them, even when they occasionally shot a hot glance at each other that said _Just wait ’til I get you alone_.

Maybe it was time he gave them that chance.

“Well, I’m pooped,” Starsky said, and he stretched and yawned a little for show. From the way Hutch rolled his eyes, he wasn’t very convincing. But Starsky figured Hutch would be glad to have him out and away.

And Starsky would be glad, too, to get off the hot seat. The test had been passed on both sides. Time to call it a night.

“Thanks for dinner, Hutch. It was good meeting you, Rik,” Starsky said.

Rik smiled wistfully. “You, too, man. I only wish I lived closer by so I could hang out with you both more often.”

“Well, you never know,” Starsky said. He grabbed his jacket and put it on.

“Hang on a sec, Starsk. I’ll walk you out.”

Starsky waved at Rik as they went out. He felt an expectant silence at his side as they walked along the hallway and then down the stairs, but Hutch didn’t say anything until they were crossing the street to the Torino.

“So. That seemed to…go well.” Hutch’s voice had a questioning lift.

“Don’t be dumb. It went great. He’s…he’s a solid guy, Hutch.”

Starsky heard Hutch exhale heavily.

“Did it really matter to you that much? That I like him?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah, it did. You _know_ it did…does.”

They stopped next to the Torino and Starsky said, putting his key in the lock, “I had a feeling it did. But, you know, you never ask me that about your girlfriends.”

  

  1. Hutch gave a short laugh of disbelief. “’Course I do. Always.” 
  



It made Starsky stop dead, and his hand froze on the door handle as he thought back. _“She’s a pretty great gal, don’t you think?”_ He could hear Hutch’s voice in his head, asking that about Gillian, Abby…Hutch was right. He did always ask. Starsky had just never noticed before how important his opinion was to Hutch.

“Well, I like him. I like him mighty fine, Hutch,” Starsky said, a little embarrassed at how much power he evidently had over his friend, all-unknowing.

“I’m glad, buddy,” Hutch said, and patted Starsky on the belly.

Starsky closed his eyes for a second. It had been a long time since Hutch had done that, given him that little pat right there, as if it were a spot that belonged solely to Hutch. And maybe it did. Hutch was in his guts.

“G’night,” Starsky said, trying to ignore the hoarseness in his voice.

“Good night, Starsk,” Hutch said, and he smiled and hurried back across the street to his apartment. And to Rik.

~*~*~

Hutch ran back up the stairs, his cock already stirring in his pants. He was high on the evening, on seeing them together, both getting along so great. And he was horny as a ten-peckered owl, to boot. It had been way too long since their last meet-up.

Rik was in the kitchen and elbow-deep in dirty dishes when Hutch got back in.

“Hey, what’re you doing there? Cut that out,” Hutch said. He came up behind Rik and ran his hands down Rik’s soapy forearms until their hands met underwater.

“Just thought I’d do a little KP while I was waiting,” Rik said, a smile in his tone.

“Well, I’ve got a much better place for you to put these hands,” Hutch whispered in Rik’s ear, pitching his voice low. He felt Rik shiver, and he smiled and sucked on the lobe, then ran his lips down the strong column of Rik’s neck to where it joined his shoulder. Hutch paused there, nuzzling just inside his collar, until finally Rik laughed and turned, his soapy hands rising to Hutch’s chest, where he very pointedly wiped them off.

“Hey!” Hutch lifted his own wet hands and planted them on Rik’s ass, gripping his firm cheeks.

“Hey!” Rik repeated, and then they were both laughing as they kissed. “So, I guess I passed the test,” Rik commented dryly when they drew back for breath.

Hutch tensed.

“C’mon, man,” Rik said, giving him another peck. “It was obvious how important tonight was to you. He’s your partner, after all. It’s like meeting the fucking in-laws.”

Hutch nodded and leaned his head against Rik’s. “Starsky’s…he’s real important to me, Rik. Closer than a brother.”

“I know that, too,” Rik said softly. “Wish Greg and I were that close.…”

“How come you’re not?” Hutch asked, curious.

Rik pulled away and retrieved his glass of wine. “Well, for one thing, he’s older than I am, and has a family. They take a lot of his attention. But for another…he doesn’t know about me,” Rik admitted.

Hutch could well understand. He knew how terrified he had been when he’d first told Starsky he’d realized he was bisexual, and he and Starsky were tighter than Rik and his partner. And, even so, it had taken Hutch three weeks of dithering to get the words out, and by that time he had dropped so many hints that Starsky pretty much already knew what was going on.

“Think you might ever tell him?”

“Nah,” Rik said shortly. He finished his wine and came back over to Hutch to grab the front of his shirt. “Hey, screw this talking stuff, let’s go to bed.” He flashed a quick grin, and Hutch tilted his head to kiss him, wrapping his arms around Rik’s waist. He pressed his hard-on against Rik’s groin.

“I really, really like your shirt,” Hutch whispered, and Rik laughed against his mouth.

~*~*~

They were lying in bed, bare limbs tangled with the crisp white sheets. Rik was slowly, achingly stroking his long leg against Hutch’s, his hand on Hutch’s chest and his mouth punishing the skin of his neck. Hutch was flushed all over; he felt like every nip was sending a message directly to his groin. He groaned when Rik twisted his nipple between his fingers.

“Keep that up and I won’t be held responsible,” Hutch said, his previous orgasm already, apparently, a distant memory to his cock, which was rising stiffly against the inside of Rik’s thigh.

“Good,” Rik whispered, “because I have plans for this.” His hand dropped to Hutch’s erection and stroked it once possessively.

“What do you have in mind?” Hutch asked breathlessly.

“Wanna see how far you can bury this monster up my ass,” Rik said.

Hutch paused a beat. “You sure?” They hadn’t done anything like that yet. Hutch hadn’t with any of his stands. There was something so final about it; it was a bridge he hadn’t been willing to cross. Until tonight.

“Hell, yeah,” Rik said. “Why, don’t you want my ass?”

“Hell, yeah,” Hutch whispered, and he rolled on top of Rik and took his mouth in a serious kiss, stepping up the pace.

Rik moaned and writhed beneath him, his cock waging war against Hutch’s.

They clutched each other, bodies moving strongly together until, finally, Hutch drew back and rolled over to reach into the nightstand. He came up empty.

“Shit, be right back.” He padded off to the bathroom to find something to use as lubricant, managing to dig up a jar of Vaseline. When he returned, he stopped dead, staring at the bed where Rik lay on his stomach, his ass raised enticingly. While Hutch watched, mesmerized, Rik flexed his buttocks.

_Beautiful,_ Hutch thought. At the same time, he felt like he was hanging on the edge of something, something profound and irrevocable. Always, before, he’d found it hot to suck and be sucked and to rub off together. But there was something almost play-like about the sex, as if they were just two kids messing around.

Now it was serious. Crazy, in a way. If Rik were a woman he would’ve fucked him on the first date. Fucking took no more thought than kissing, when it came to women. He wondered why it should feel so different with a man. Maybe it was because he’d never done this with a man before.

Shaking his head, Hutch walked over to kneel on the bed between Rik’s spread thighs. He put down the Vaseline and put both hands on Rik’s cheeks, squeezing them. Rik groaned and humped his hips a little, his belly over a pillow, his cock hanging below. Hutch reached around and stroked him, and Rik groaned in gratitude.

“You really sure about this?” Hutch asked, leaning over the broad back.

Rik nodded, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Do it, Blondie.”

A chill struck Hutch at the nickname. He wondered if Rik had picked it up from Starsky tonight. Strange how one word could evoke so much.

_I’m here with Rik. Rik wants me._ Hutch reminded himself, uncapping the jar and dipping his fingers inside. He pulled apart Rik’s cheeks and smoothed the gooey stuff around Rik’s opening before gently inserting a finger.

Hutch felt the pull of tissue tightening and relaxing, and he started to move his finger in and out. Rik was groaning and moving his hips eagerly. Hutch imagined his cock enveloped in that hot channel, and he felt himself grow harder.

“Jesus you have a big finger,” Rik gasped.

“Hurting you?” Hutch asked, worried.

“No way. Don’t stop,” Rik said.

Hutch didn’t. He stroked deeper, pressing downward, and found what had to be Rik’s prostate. Hutch curled his finger and massaged it gently.

Rik’s hips bucked. “Don’t make me come,” he warned.

Hutch pulled out his finger and spread some gel on his cock, then reentered Rik’s ass with two fingers, stretching him out, bending his knuckles just inside. Then he withdrew and shuffled into position.

He ran his hand down Rik’s spine, ending at his lower back and petting him there. “You ready for me?” He felt like he couldn’t quite breathe.

Rik only humped his butt once in response, and Hutch sighed and positioned himself, sliding his lubricated cock between the strong cheeks and down to Rik’s asshole.

_Forgive me_ , Hutch thought, not really sure why. And then he pushed. He heard Rik’s moan match his own as the head of his cock passed the outer ring of muscle. It tightened reflexively on him and he stopped, staying just within.

“Monster,” Rik whispered in pained amazement.

Hutch gritted his teeth and waited. He’d done this particular act enough with his girlfriends to know he had to patiently allow the tight muscle to relax. After ten heartbeats, in which Hutch felt each individual pulse in the veins of his cock, he detected the easing, and Hutch pushed in deeper, only to wait again.

By increments he penetrated Rik until his groin was flush with the hard cheeks of Rik’s ass. Then Hutch leaned down, briefly resting his forehead on Rik’s back and kissing the center of his spine.

“You’re so good, so tight,” Hutch moaned. The pleasure was astounding. He suddenly realized it had been more than six months since he had _fucked_. The thought made his cock twitch, and Rik clenched even tighter around him in response.

“You fill me up,” Rik whispered. “God. Fuck me.”

Hutch eagerly obeyed. He felt Rik’s hips rising below him as Hutch moved in and out at a steady rhythm. _God, so good, so good_. So long since he’d felt this, sinking deep into living heat, his own hips moving strong and smooth. Rik was calling out, urging him on, his fingers clenched into the sheets. Hutch dropped down to feel the firm body moving below his, and he started pushing in deep and pressing tight, then pulling back slowly until the tip of his cock rested just at Rik’s opening, before plunging down again.

Hutch grunted as he thrust, deep groans rattling his chest and throat with the pleasure of it. Rik was moaning almost continually now and had stopped moving, sweat beading his torso so that each time their bodies met it was with a slick slapping sound. Hutch thrust on and on, a hot sliding rhythm of pleasure.

“God. God. Make me come,” Rik started begging, and Hutch had to muddle through the logistics for a second, his brain was fogged with the hypnotic rhythm. Finally, he rested his weight on one elbow, thrusting shallowly, and reached for Rik’s cock with his other hand. He squeezed it, pumping a little faster than his thrusts, and Rik cried out and met his strokes, upping the pace.

“Ahh, Kenneth.” Rik’s ass tightened convulsively around Hutch’s cock, and then he felt it, the tense drawing up of the body below him and the explosion as Rik came, still calling out Hutch’s name.

The sweet pull of Rik’s ass pushed Hutch over the edge into pure ecstasy, and he released Rik’s cock to pump in and out hard a few times before he was coming too, ejaculating deep inside his lover.

“Rik. God...God,” Hutch moaned low as the wave struck again, and his hands clamped down hard on Rik’s shoulders. Hutch slumped down and nuzzled the back of Rik’s neck, brushing his lips against the short hairs. “Beautiful,” Hutch whispered.

He heard Rik sigh, and Hutch gently eased off of him, slipping out and rolling to the side. Rik turned his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Hutch went willingly, his heart still beating fast.

“That was fantastic,” Rik whispered. “What took us so long?”

Hutch didn’t answer, but he knew. He knew, and he closed his eyes against revealing the painful knowledge: that he hadn’t been ready to commit this act with Rik until he was sure Starsky approved. _I’m such a fuck-up. This beautiful guy wanted me, and I couldn’t make a move without my partner’s okay._

“We’re here now,” Hutch finally responded, and he pulled at Rik’s shoulder until the other man shifted over into his embrace.

Hutch fell asleep holding Rik’s hand close to his chest.

~*~*~

“Well, well, well,” Starsky said in greeting, and Hutch shot him a look over his morning bagel. “Looks like _somebody_ got some last night.”

“Don’t be crude,” Hutch said, but he felt heat staining his neck, and Starsky smiled wickedly.

“We’re on stakeout today,” Hutch said to forestall any further comments. “Captain says Vice thinks Riegert’s gonna to make a move, and Dobey is hoping he’ll finally lead us to the body. A tying up loose ends kinda thing.”

“Okay, your car or mine?” Starsky asked facetiously.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “I’ll meet you at the LTD.” Starsky nodded and left, and Hutch picked up the phone and looked around the empty squad room before dialing.

“Yeah?” came Rik’s sleepy voice.

“This is your wake-up call,” Hutch said softly into the receiver. “You have three hours to get your ass out of my bed and down south for the start of your shift.”

“Oh.” Hutch could hear Rik stretching and grunting. “Thanks. You leave me any coffee?”

“Of course. Listen, last night was…” Hutch paused, wordless.

“It sure was.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, see you this weekend?”

“Sure thing, blue eyes.”

“Oh, shit. I just remembered: Dobey has us on stakeout. So it’s still iffy.”

“That’s okay. You’re worth waiting for,” was Rik’s husky reply.

Hutch was grateful Rik couldn’t see his blush.

“Okay, ’bye then.”

“’Bye. Love you,” Rik said, and hung up.

Hutch sat holding the receiver for a long moment before putting it down and grabbing his jacket. _He was half-asleep. I’m sure he didn’t mean it…_ For some reason hearing Rik say the words made Hutch feel panicked. He strode downstairs and into the parking lot to where Starsky waited by the LTD, a newspaper in his hands.

“What’s up?” Starsky said, looking concerned, obviously picking up on his tension. Hutch didn’t reply, but unlocked the car and got in, popping the lock for Starsky so he could do the same.

“That paper gonna last you, or do you want to pick up something else to read?” Hutch asked, starting up the engine.

“What I _want_ ,” Starsky stressed, “is for you to answer the damned question. You were all happy two minutes ago, and now you look like a bear who’s missing his overcoat.”

Hutch frowned at the weird turn of phrase. “Overcoat?”

“C’mon, spill it, Blondie. I’m not going to pull eight hours on stakeout with a chilled grizzly.”

With a sigh, Hutch said hesitantly, “Rik told me he loved me.”

“So? That’s kinda nice, don’tcha think?”

Nothing in Starsky’s tone betrayed discomfort with the idea, so Hutch went on, “Thing is, I don’t think…that is, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve never had a guy tell me he loves me before.”

“Sure you have, Hutch,” Starsky said disbelievingly. “For starters, what about your pop?”

Hutch’s breath escaped him in an involuntary bark of laughter. “Yeah, _right_. Remind me to introduce you to my father someday.”

Starsky appeared to digest that little nugget. “So, then, what about…well, there’s always me, you know.”

That time Hutch couldn’t reply at all. _When? When would that have been, buddy? Sure, you show it all the time, but **say** it? Not on your life. Not even just now, although it means lot that you implied it._

“Hutch?” Starsky seemed determined to get a response.

“This is a stupid conversation,” Hutch growled, and turned the ignition. There were a few minutes of silence while he navigated the way out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Then Starsky said, “I guess…I guess I don’t say it, huh? But you gotta know I feel it, Hutch. Right here.” Out of the corner of his eye, Hutch saw Starsky touch his chest over his heart.

“Yeah, okay, buddy.” Hutch said, and cleared his throat of the annoying roughness. “Me, too.”

_Oh, man, understatement of the year._

~*~*~

Six hours later they were both hot, sticky and hungry. The purple monstrosity of a Cadillac they’d been keeping an eye on, which Starsky had codenamed “Sugarplum,” hadn’t budged, nor had its owner, “Fats” Riegert, made an appearance outside the warehouse where he was holed up. Starsky gave a sigh and went through his paper yet again, obviously hoping he’d missed something on the first two passes.

“Want me to read you your horoscope?” he asked Hutch.

“You know I don’t believe in that crap,” Hutch replied.

“Aw, c’mon.” Starsky hunted through the pages until he found it. “Says here: ‘Talk to a trusted friend or colleague about your problems. Make the decision that will bring you the most happiness, not the most safety. Love is in the picture.’”

_Shit._ Hutch opened his mouth, but Starsky’s chuckle stopped him.

“So?” Starsky said, turning to face him. He propped his left foot up on the seat and rested an elbow on it. “Spill.”

Hutch rubbed his face with his hands, hating the grainy feel to his eyeballs. “What’s to tell? Rik, he…he’s a great guy.”

“Yeah, I think so, too. Although.…”

“Although what?” Hutch asked around a sudden lump attacking his throat.

“Well, this is weird, but how come he calls you ‘Hutch’? I mean, I expected him to call you ‘Ken’ like all your.…”

Hutch gave Starsky his most withering glance. “Like my girlfriends, you mean?”

“Well, yeah.” Starsky ducked his head and appeared to find something fascinating about his shoelace.

“He’s not my girlfriend, Starsk. He’s…I don’t know what he is. I’m confused out of my mind, to tell you the truth.” The confession was made with difficulty, and Hutch looked away from Starsky’s curious glance. “Anyway, he doesn’t always call me ‘Hutch.’” He felt the heat rise in his face.

“Oh, yeah? What else does he call you?” Starsky sounded fascinated.

“Sometimes he calls me ‘Kenneth.’”

Starsky made a small sound, and Hutch gave him a swift look, expecting to find him laughing. But Starsky wasn’t. He looked kind of uncomfortable.

“Hey, you started this,” Hutch said defensively, looking away again.

“’S not what you think, Hutch,” Starsky said earnestly. “It’s just—” He cut himself off.

“Just what?” Hutch asked when Starsky didn’t continue right away.

“It’s just that now that you’ve…I mean, he’s a _cop._ And he’s fast—you said so at dinner, that he’s even faster than you. I ain’t never seen anyone run faster than you, Hutch. It’s like he’s perfect, because he’s all those things, and also he likes you…” Starsky trailed off after the confusing rant, and Hutch stared at him in total consternation.

“Was that supposed to make sense?”

Starsky sighed and looked up. “If you really like him, Hutch, that’s great. That’s what I was hoping…only don’t forget about me, huh? That I’m your best buddy?”

Hutch’s jaw dropped until he was certain it was hanging in his lap. “Starsk,” he said through his impossibly tight throat, “there’s nobody, **_nobody_ ** could take your place. You _know_ that. You’re it. You’re…” _You’re everything._ “You’re my partner.” He had to stop then, or reveal far too much for Starsky’s comfort level as well as his own.

Starsky still hadn’t raised his head, but his hand crept out across the seat to wait for Hutch’s. Hutch took his hand and squeezed hard, then released it.

“Look at us,” Hutch said, “couple of fairies holding hands in the front seat.”

Starsky laughed, long and hard, and Hutch joined in.

They were still talking and laughing when the radio squawked to send them off-duty.

~*~*~

“You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_ put a fucking hotel on Baltic Avenue, Starsky,” Hutch said while reaching for the rapidly emptying popcorn bowl in Rik’s lap. “For one thing, you don’t even own a house there. And for another, you’re mortgaged up to your ass.”

“Geez, lighten up, Hutch,” Rik said, yanking the bowl away from Hutch’s questing fingers.

“Gimme that,” Hutch said, his eyes dangerous but a smile quirking his lips.

“Nuh-uh. The proletariat is rebelling against the greedy landowners, ain’t that right, Starsky?”

“Uh, yeah,” Starsky said, thinking, _Prole-what?_ “So kiss off, Hutch.”

“Yeah. No more slaving in the fields growing corn for Mister Man.”

Hutch seemed to consider his options, and the proximity of the bowl, and then he lifted his chin. “Fine,” he said archly, putting his hands to the floor and pressing up to his feet. “I’ll just make some of my very own.” He left the deck and went toward the kitchen.

“Don’t blister your soft, aristocratic hands,” Rik called out after him, laughing, and then he offered the bowl to Starsky.

Starsky watched through the window as Hutch moved around the kitchen. “He’s happy,” Starsky said.

Rik grinned but raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t know, I guess, because you’ve only ever known him since he’s had you. But you’re making him happy, Rik.”

The other man dropped his head and rubbed his hand over the close-shaved fuzz. “Yeah, well. He makes me happy, too.”

“Just don’t screw it up, okay? Don’t hurt him.”

Rik’s head shot up at the words. Starsky stared back evenly, aware of the thread of iron in his own voice, but unwilling to back down.

“He’s been hurt a lot, see. Most people don’t get that Hutch is easy to hurt. He’s so big and looks so icy sometimes, maybe they’re fooled. But he’s just a giant mushball, really.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna give me the big speech.” Rik stared at him. “I don’t want to see him hurt either,” he finally said.

“Good, so you won’t,” Starsky said, and then lightened his tone. “And I won’t have to kick your ass.”

“Think you can, Army?”

“Kiss my big blowy behind, Navy.”

They grinned at each other.

“What? What’d I miss?” Hutch asked, coming back in and sitting down.

Rik rolled his eyes and handed him the dice.

~*~*~

_Two months’ strong and still counting._ Rik was starting to think he’d finally lucked out in love, a feat he’d once thought impossible. He edged his elbow across the back of the bench seat in the LTD and let his hand rest on Hutch’s shoulder. Hutch flashed him a quick smile. They were heading up the San Diego Freeway on their way to pick up Starsky.

“I’m telling you, Rik, this one piece of the park is so terrific. Perfectly isolated, and yet right in the middle of the Palisades. I don’t know why more people don’t go there.”

“Maybe because they’re afraid of nature. Nature is evil, you know?” Rik said.

“Don’t tell me you hate camping as much as—” Hutch was interrupted by a squawk from the radio.

_“Zebra Three, Zebra Three, this is Dispatch. Come in, over.”_

“What the hell, they know this is our day off,” Hutch muttered, grabbing up the mic. “This is Zebra Three, what is it, Dispatch?”

_“Hold for patch from Captain Dobey, over.”_

The speaker crackled and then the captain’s deep voice rattled the tinny little speaker. _“Hutch. Starsky’s in trouble—”_ The radio let out a burst of static and then went silent.

“Shit. Shit.” Hutch talked into the mic, “Dispatch, I’ve lost Dobey. Over.” He said, “Crap reception out here, I’m always telling Starsky…” He tried again. “Dispatch, are you there? Over.”

There was no response. Rik looked over at Hutch and saw he had paled, his features set. “Give me the radio. I’ll keep trying,” Rik said.

Hutch handed it over and grabbed the Mars light, slinging it onto the roof and flipping it on. Then Rik held the dash as Hutch stepped on the gas.

Two blocks from Starsky’s house, the emergency became evident in the thick black smoke that was rising from a small apartment a few houses down. Firefighters on the scene were already running hoses from the fire hydrant on the corner.

Hutch peeled up in the LTD and was out of it before it stopped rocking. Rik exited more slowly, his guts icy with dread. _If something has happened to Starsky it’ll kill him._ Rik hurried forward and found Hutch talking to the Fire Chief, who was trying to calm him down.

“All we know is he called it in and then went in there. He brought out a little girl, then went back for the mother.”

“Starsk,” Hutch whispered, and then made as if to move forward.

“Hey, hey, where ya going?” Rik said, grabbing his arm, then tightening his grip when Hutch tried to haul himself away.

“He’s my partner,” Hutch said, as if that explained everything. His voice was tight, clipped. He started to pull forward again and this time the Fire Chief joined Rik on Hutch’s other arm, holding him back.

“We got good men in there, son, they’ll get him out. The place reeks of chemicals. PCP lab, most likely. You go in there without a mask and it’s certain you’ll be lights out before you know what hit you,” the Fire Chief explained patiently.

“Then give me a fucking mask,” Hutch shouted, really losing it. He turned to the Fire Chief. “Williams, is it? Let me tell you, if it were me in there, Starsky’d already be halfway through the door, chemicals or no chemicals.”

“Then he’d die to no purpose, son,” Williams said, his voice low and soothing. “My men’ll find him. That’s what they do.”

Hutch subsided, but Rik kept the grip on his arm, feeling a rhythmic trembling shaking the big frame. An eternity passed with each ticking second as they waited. And then there was a hint of activity at the door to the apartment, and three firefighters came out bearing two limp bodies—that of a short, dark-haired woman, and Starsky.

Hutch tore out of Rik’s grasp and plunged forward only to halt anxiously at the circle of firefighters who were gathered around the figures. A paramedic started strapping oxygen masks to their faces while another took their vitals. Rik joined Hutch to stand next to him.

“He’s alive, Hutch. They wouldn’t mask him if he weren’t alive.”

There was no response from the rigid man beside him who watched, still as a statue, while the paramedics did their work. They lifted the two victims on stretchers and started carrying them to the waiting ambulance.

“C’mon,” Rik said, tugging at Hutch’s arm. “We’ll take the car. And you have to notify your captain.”

Hutch finally moved, walking toward the car while casting glances back to the ambulance. Rik pushed him toward the passenger door.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

~*~*~

Rik sat in the plastic waiting room chair, his gut filling with a chill that had only partly to do with his worry for Starsky, and much more to do with the hard truth he had learned in the past hour.

Hutch was pacing vigorously back and forth in front of him, his face a pale mask of anguish and worry. Except for his brief talk with the Fire Chief, Hutch still hadn’t spoken.

_Christ, he loves him. So fucking much. I had no idea._ Rik’s heart was heavy as he watched the caged movement of the tall blond before him. Big, beautiful—but not his. Never had been. Anger sparked to mix with the pain. _You lied, Hutch. You said you were free to love me. Maybe you even thought it was true, but it wasn’t._

Rik sighed and was resting his head in his hands when a doctor pushed through the big double-doors of the Emergency Room.

“Relatives of Sergeant Starsky?”

Hutch bolted forward. “I’m his partner. I’m listed as next-of-kin.”

Another thing Rik hadn’t known. The day was chock full of surprises.

“I’m Doctor Adams.” He held out his hand, and Hutch shook it impatiently.

“How is he? Please.” Hutch’s voice was edged with fear.

“Sergeant Starsky is resting well. He had some burns that we’ve treated, none too severe. He suffered smoke inhalation, and the toxic fumes are giving him nausea and other more minor symptoms. We have him on oxygen now, his O2 levels are good, and he is conscious and alert.”

“Thank Christ,” Rik said.

Hutch took a deep breath and asked, “Can I see him?”

“Of course.” Adams waved a hand. “We’ll be putting him in a room for overnight observation. I’m a little concerned about repercussions from the chemical inhalation. Only a little,” the doctor said quickly when Hutch’s face twitched. “The floor nurse will let you know when he’s been moved.”

“Thank you, Dr. Adams,” Hutch said, holding out his hand to shake the doctor’s more formally. Adams nodded and then disappeared back into the ER.

Hutch sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, then turned to Rik.

“He’s going to be okay,” Hutch said, as if reassuring him.

_He’s totally out of it._ “Let me get you a cup of coffee, Hutch. It might be a long wait.”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds good, thanks.” Hutch turned to sit down at last.

Rik went to find a coffee machine, all the while hearing a tiny voice mourning in his head.

_Not yours. Never was._

~*~*~

Starsky cracked open his eyes. Everything was blurry, and they kept tearing up. He heard a soft voice say, “Hey, buddy.”

“Hutch,” Starsky croaked.

“Yeah, it’s me. And Rik. We thought we’d come take you to the park if you’re game.”

“Funny.” Starsky’s voice wasn’t cooperating, and Hutch and Rik were just shadowy smears. He blinked a couple more times, the tears stinging his already burning eyes. He felt something poke at his lip.

“Straw. Water, Starsk.”

Starsky took the straw into his mouth and gratefully sucked down the cool water. He drank so quickly he was making slurping sounds.

“Hang on, let me refill it,” Hutch said, and Starsky heard him pour some more. Starsky drank that, too.

“Better? They had you on oxygen for a while. I know how that dries you out.”

Starsky felt warm pressure on his shoulder and he sighed. “Better, yeah.” He lifted his head. He could see more clearly now. “Hiya, Tracks.”

“Hey, Starsky. What’d you go and run into a burning building for, huh? Don’t you know you’re supposed to go the other way?” Rik kidded gently.

“Well, I heard there was a party and I didn’t want to miss it,” Starsky smiled up at the blurry blond figure to his right. “Sorry to ruin the day trip. You know how I love camping.”

Hutch wavered in his vision and then cleared. He saw Hutch smile, but the tension in his face remained.

“I’m okay, Hutch. Doctor told me so.”

“Yeah,” Hutch said heavily, the weight speaking volumes.

“So, when am I getting out of here?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up.”

“’Kay, that’s good.” Starsky suddenly felt really tired. He looked back at Rik, who was looking over at Hutch. There was something sad in Rik’s eyes, but Starsky couldn’t muster the energy to try to figure it out.

“’M gonna take a nap now,” he announced, and Hutch gave a small chuckle and patted his shoulder.

“G’night, partner.”

Starsky slept.

~*~*~

Hutch maneuvered the LTD out of the hospital parking lot, his thoughts still running frantically like a rabbit under the shadow of a hawk. _So close. Again. Damned fool runs into a burning building. Saved that little girl’s life. What can you say to that? He was doing what he always does, doing the right thing._ But it hurt to have Starsky in there without him, not giving Hutch a chance to protect him.

“Hutch,” Rik said quietly, and with a start Hutch came back to the present. He was on autopilot, steering the LTD toward the Santa Monica Freeway.

“What is it, babe?” God, he was tired, and it wasn’t even four o’clock. He turned his head to look at Rik. “Thanks for being there today, man. Don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

An enigmatic look crossed over Rik’s face, and Hutch frowned, wishing he could read him as well as he read Starsky. _That’ll come in time._

“You okay?” Hutch asked him.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like he’s been run over by a steamroller.”

“I am…a little tired,” Hutch admitted.

“Then let’s get you to bed.”

“Any excuse…” Hutch joked automatically.

“Any at all,” Rik returned softly.

When they got back to Venice Place, they crawled into Hutch’s big brass bed and made love slowly. Hutch was too tired for acrobatics but he reveled in the gentle touch of Rik’s big hands. There was something sweet and sad in their lovemaking that afternoon. Hutch puzzled at it even as he enjoyed the long, languorous kisses his lover bestowed on him.

As he was dropping into sleep, he thought he heard Rik whisper something into his ear, but it was lost in the sound of his deep breaths as he slipped away.

~*~*~

Hutch awoke from the long nap to the sound of rustling clothing. He opened his eyes and stretched, feeling a strange lassitude. _Maybe it was a truck, not a steamroller._ His muscles were aching as if he’d lifted something heavy. Just his fear. His overwhelming fear. But it had faded now, as it always did. Hutch didn’t think he could go on without the reprieve that time gave him from his most vivid memories.

“You getting up?” Hutch asked, yawning.

“Yeah.” There was an odd note to Rik’s voice, and Hutch awoke more fully to look at him.

Rik was fully dressed, and he was re-packing his overnight bag.

“I thought you were staying the weekend,” Hutch said, confused. He swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed facing him.

“There’s been a…change of plans.” Rik avoided his glance and continued his packing.

Hutch struggled with a sudden pang of unease. “What’s going on?”

Rik sighed and zipped up his bag. “Look, get dressed and we’ll talk, okay? I’ll make us a bite to eat.” He took his bag and walked out of the room.

Concerned, Hutch jammed into his clothing quickly to join him in the kitchen.

Rik was methodically laying out some fruit and bread and cheese. There was something too exacting in the movements and it made Hutch even more nervous. It was like a rite of some kind.

They sat down and Hutch took some slices of apple and a hunk of cheese, but his appetite deserted him at Rik’s first words.

“I learned something today. Something I knew, but didn’t want to know, Hutch. It’s time I faced it, and let you go.”

Hutch swallowed the chunk of apple with some difficulty. “Let me _go_? Wh-why? What truth?”

“You lied to me.” Rik said it with sorrow and some anger, both.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” Hutch said shortly, “since I don’t make it a habit of lying to my…lovers.” He heard the prim precision in his voice spawned from his sudden anger. _Where the hell is this coming from?_

Rik sighed and shook his head. “You told me you were ready…that you wanted someone to be with, someone to love. But you already have someone you love.”

There was a moment of silence as Hutch worked out what Rik was trying to say.

“This is about _Starsky_?” Hutch said with disbelief. “Chrissake, Rik, he almost _died_ today. Of course I was freaked out. He’s my best friend!”

“Yeah, he is. And that would be great, if he weren’t also the man you love.”

Hutch’s stomach plummeted, and ice filled the vacuum in its wake.

Rik’s face set at his lack of response. “I’m such an idiot. You know I actually thought of asking you someday if we could partner up? But I was waiting. See, I knew you were holding some piece of you back, and I thought I just needed to give you time—that this was all new to you, being in a relationship with a guy. But the truth is you’re holding it back for _him._ Waiting for him to come claim it someday, maybe. And maybe you didn’t even realize it, but that makes it worse, somehow. All I know is, you lied when you said you could love me.”

Hutch sat silently, trying to collect his thoughts. _He knows. He saw it. And, God help me, he’s right._ “Don’t you think I could…could love more than one person, Rik? I swear I do care about you. Every day I care more.” And that was the truth, too, but he could see from the glare in those green eyes that it wasn’t enough.

“It’s not enough,” Rik said, echoing his thoughts. “I want…what I saw today. That look on your face when you realized he was alive—that you hadn’t lost him. That’s what I want for me, _only_ for me,” he said determinedly. “You can’t give me that. And I deserve it.”

_It’s over._ Hutch closed his eyes. _He’s not willing to settle for less than he deserves. And I can’t give him what he does._ “You’re right. You deserve that. I…I _swear_ I thought I could give it to you, in time.”

Rik nodded, but there was no forgiveness in the gesture, just acceptance that Hutch was speaking what he thought was the truth. Rik started to rise, and Hutch reached out to catch his hand across the table.

“I’m sorry. Truly, truly sorry.”

“I know you are,” Rik said sadly. “I hope some day you can let him go and find someone else to care about who feels the same. The way I thought I had.” Rik’s voice broke, and he pulled his hand away. He grabbed his bag and walked quickly out the door.

Hutch watched him go, his heart sinking with the feeling that he had just thrown away his last and best chance.

~*~*~

Starsky yanked his pants on, ready to get the hell and gone out of the damned hospital. Hutch had brought him a spare set of clothing, since his own had been charred, and reeked so heavily of smoke that he’d been forced to toss them. _There goes another great pair of jeans. And it takes years to get ’em shrunk right._

He lifted his head after buttoning his pants, and caught Hutch staring morosely at the floor.

“What’s got you down in the dumps, pal?” Starsky pulled on a knit shirt and ruffled out his hair, frowning when he felt the rough shortness where the heat had singed it off. He was going to have to get a trim ASAP. “And where the heck is Rik? I thought we could grab waffles or something to celebrate my miraculous unscathedness.”

“Ah….”

Starsky stared more closely at Hutch, who looked away and cleared his throat.

“Rik…went back home.”

“Yeah, huh?” Starsky sat down on the bed to put on his shoes. They stunk, too, but there was no way he was throwing those puppies out. He’d wear them until the stink wore away. “How come he left?”

“He and I…well, it’s not going to work out.”

Starsky stopped mid shoe-tie and stared at Hutch in shock. “Not gonna…but why? What the fuck?” Starsky pressed his lips together before saying angrily, “What did he do?”

“He…it was my fault. Don’t get mad at him or anything. It’s just…I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” Hutch reached for the plastic bag that contained Starsky’s belongings and handed him his jacket.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

~*~*~

As the weeks passed Starsky tried hard to get Hutch to talk about what had happened with Rik, but the Blintz’s lips were sealed tighter than his Aunt Rose’s Tupperware. And the glow that had lit Hutch’s eyes for the past couple of months was completely gone. It was heartbreaking. Starsky found himself getting more and more angry as he watched his friend moping through the days looking as if he’d given up.

Starsky tried to encourage Hutch to double-date with him, but he was having none of it. No women, and no men, either.

Finally, after a month of heavy silences with his listless partner, Starsky had had enough. He took a day off and filled the Torino with gas to drive down to Encinitas.

Hutch had looked at him funny when he’d cancelled their weekly basketball game, but then he’d just shrugged and said he was going plant shopping. Hutch had been spending a lot of time and money on plants these days.

_Maybe because they won’t leave him._

Starsky located the Encinitas Police Department and found a space in front. The building was much smaller than Metro, but had a good feel. He nodded at some uniforms on their way out, and went to see the desk sergeant.

“I’m looking for Rik Hohenstein; he’s in Vice. I’m a buddy on the Job up in Bay City.”

“Oh, yeah?” The sergeant was a balding, round little man with the same beady little eyes all desk sergeants seemed to have. He gave Starsky a hard glance. Then his face relaxed into a smile.

“Second floor, on your right. He just got in so he should be up there.”

“Great, thanks.”

Starsky rocketed up the stairs, filled with nervous energy now that he was finally going to confront Rik.

He found him at his desk in a squad room laid out almost exactly like Metro’s. Starsky walked over to Rik and stood there silently until he looked up.

“Starsky.” Rik seemed unsurprised. His next words confirmed it. “I figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well, you were right. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Sure,” Rik said, sounding unconcerned. He signed the paper he was looking at and dropped it into his out-box.

Giving Starsky a sideways nod, he took the lead down the hall to a small room. There was a bunk bed wedged into it, and a door that opened onto a tiny bathroom.

“We come here and nap sometimes when we’re pulling the late ones,” Rik said, as if he were giving Starsky a tour. “So, what can I do for you?” he asked evenly.

“You know damned well why I’m here, so let’s cut the crap, okay? I told you not to hurt him. God, I practically _begged_ you not to. And now he’s walking around like a fucking zombie.” Starsky’s voice was rising, and he clenched his fists, trying to calm down.

Rik leaned against the bunk bed, looking completely at ease. “What about me?”

“Huh?” Starsky didn’t understand.

“I mean, aren’t you curious at all if he hurt me?”

Now Starsky got it, and his blood started to rise again. “Hutch wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It’s not in him—”

“Mother of God,” Rik swore. “The two of you are amazing. Such blind loyalty. What the fuck do you know about it? Did he tell you what happened between us?”

Starsky clenched his jaw. “No. He just said it was his fault. But he always says that about every damned thing that ever happens to go wrong in his life. What I wanna know is how could you just cut him loose? Even if he did something, or said something—”

“It’s what he _didn’t_ do. What he didn’t _say_ ,” Rik interrupted softly. Then his voice took on an edge. “And anyway, what business is it of yours? He’s just your friend.”

“Just my friend? You little fink. Don’t you get it? That’s _everything_. He’s fucking _everything_ to me.” Starsky leaned in, his hands itching to paste a good one on that perfect face.

Rik’s green eyes hardened. “You think you can take me, Army?”

With an effort, Starsky choked back on his anger and shook his head wearily. “Maybe, maybe not. But finding out won’t do either of us any good.” He pulled back a little to re-group. “Look, if you cared about him at all, even a little, can’t you just tell me something, anything that will help me help _him_? ’Cause he’s hurting real bad right now, Rik. It’s like you gutted him.”

Rik’s face set and he ground his teeth together. “I can’t tell you anything,” he said finally, sounding like the words hurt. _“Because_ I care about him. That’s the only answer I can give you. You’ll have to ask him the rest yourself.”

Starsky sighed. “Thanks a lot. I drove two hours for this cryptic shit?”

Rik laughed bitterly. “Maybe you should ask yourself why you did? Jesus, it’s sitting right in front of you, but you’re as blind as a mole. So go ask him.”

Starsky turned and put his hand on the doorknob.

“And while you’re at it,” Rik said bitterly, “ask Hutch why he never let me up that sweet blond ass of his.”

Starsky dropped his hand and turned back.

~*~*~

He drove the Torino up the Pacific Coast Highway one-handed, nursing his bruised knuckles. Starsky now regretted clocking Rik, if only because Hutch would shortly be asking him where he’d gotten the black eye. But it was worth it. Wiping that angry smirk off of Rik’s face had been the most satisfying thing that had happened to him in weeks.

Hell, in months.

Ever since Hutch had started dating Rik, Starsky had had the same anxious feeling dog him day after day, in spite of Hutch’s reassurances that Starsky would always be his best friend.

It wasn’t enough, somehow.

Starsky shook his head. He had two hours of thinking to do to try to figure out what the hell had happened between Rik and Hutch. A guy could figure a lot in two hours. Cases had broken in less.

_Let’s take the evidence so far: 1) Hutch says it’s his fault. Of course, he **always** says that. But let’s take it on faith that it’s true, that Hutch did something or said something…wait, Rik said it was what he **didn’t** do or say. So, Hutch didn’t do or say something, and that caused the break-up. 2) Rik says he was hurt. And damned if he didn’t seem pretty hurt. He sure didn’t look happy. 3) It all started when I got trapped in the fire. Everything was fine before that. 4) Rik says I’m part of it somehow, because I drove down to confront him. 5) Rik said he couldn’t tell me anything because he cares about Hutch._

The last one stopped him dead. _Hutch isn’t talking to me about this either. And usually I have him cracked open like a cheap safe at this point. A month is a long time for him to stay mum._

_Hutch didn’t do something for Rik, and it has something to do with me driving two hours to Encinitas. Something Hutch didn’t want to tell me._

_Holy shit. It’s **me**. My fault. Rik must’ve asked Hutch to move down there. To partner up, maybe. And Hutch said no. He wouldn’t do it. He must’ve told Rik after the fire. Maybe he was thinking about it a little, but then he realized he couldn’t break us up and leave me alone._

The pieces fit. And the whole picture gave him a warm feeling deep in his chest, even as he mourned for Hutch’s hurt and loneliness.

_Aw, buddy. Why does it have to be this way with us? Why’re they always trying to pull us apart? Don’t they know it’s no good at all? Terry was the only one who understood, and even she almost split us up after she died, thanks to the stupid thing I said._

Somehow, it always came back to them. It was the price they were paying for their friendship, over and over: that gut-deep sadness when things didn’t work out. Again. And again. Always the losers, after a tiny bit of happiness.

An image flashed in his mind’s eye of Hutch, glowing, leaning back against the table, kissing Rik, putting a gentle hand on his cheek. And another: of Hutch’s eyes, filled with blue heat, staring into Rik’s. And Starsky remembered watching them over those months they were together, and how uneasy he had felt doing so—no longer because he thought it was weird, two guys together, but because it was Hutch looking that way at a man. _Another_ man.

Another man, not Starsky.

Starsky felt a jolt hit him, and he had to grip the steering wheel tightly at his sudden sense of profound shock, his sore hand twinging from the pressure. He pulled over to the shoulder and sat in the car, still gripping the wheel, and let himself feel it again— _really_ feel it—what he had felt watching them, his cock half-hard in his jeans and his breath moving quick to match the pace of his pounding heart.

_Oh, man. It **can’t** be. _ But it was. He’d been jealous. He’d been aroused. And he wanted it to be _him_. For Hutch to touch _him_ that way. Only him.

_Christ, where was I when they were handing out brains?_

Starsky checked the side view mirror and then hammered the gas. He was less than an hour out.

An hour away from Hutch.

~*~*~

Hutch spritzed the little palm plant a couple of times, frowning in concern at the signs of possible fungal growth on the pale green leaves. He went to the kitchen and added a little soap to the bottle, then went back and treated the diseased leaves before moving on to the plants in the living room.

Every so often he would catch a glimpse of himself reflected in the window, and he’d frown at the reminder. Lonely guy with his plants. He knew he was turning into a little bit of a shut-in, but right now he felt like all possible doors had been slammed in his face.

He’d had one chance to get out, get free of his solitude, but he’d screwed that up, too.

_Rik._ No, Hutch couldn’t honestly say he’d been in love, but he’d been working at it, hard. Rik should’ve been easy to love. He was a terrific guy.

He just wasn’t Starsky.

There was a knock at the door and an anxious, muffled, “Hutch? You there?”

_Speak of the devil._

Hutch opened up and there stood his own personal devil, with blue eyes and a shorter than usual haircut.

“Starsk. Hey, buddy.” Hutch leaned in and took a good look at him. “What the hell happened to your eye?”

“Uh. Can I come in?” Starsky asked, and Hutch let him by.

“Who did that to you, Starsk? Let me know and I’ll give ’em my fist to chew on.”

“Aw, Hutch. Don’t worry about it. It was kinda my fault.”

Hutch shook his head.

“So, what you been up to?” Starsky asked.

“Nothing much, just futzing around.” Hutch went to the kitchen and pulled a couple of beers from the fridge. The afternoon sunlight glinted through the kitchen window, laying patterns of gold on the counter. Hutch cracked open the bottles and returned to the living room to hand one to Starsky.

“Looks like your jungle’s growing. Introduce me to the new guys?”

Starsky had been so careful around him lately…Hutch remembered after Terry how he had used that same, gentle caution with his friend. But this wasn’t the same situation at all. Terry had been stolen from Starsky; he hadn’t pushed her away. _I don’t deserve his sympathy._

“Since when are you fascinated by plants? You hate nature, remember?”

“Not when it’s all contained. Then it’s kind of nice. I like this one, Hutch, what d’you call it?”

Hutch joined his friend by the cymbidium, which had just recently put forth some brilliant purple blossoms. “This one’s a _Dendrobium Cobber_ from Australia. I haven’t given it a name yet.”

“It’s pretty,” Starsky said, sounding wistful. He touched the blossom delicately.

Hutch saw the cuts and bruising on his knuckles, and pressed his lips together. With a sigh, he went back to the kitchen and pulled open the freezer to grab the ice tray. Starsky drifted in just as he was wrapping the ice in a thin kitchen towel.

“Here,” Hutch said gruffly, “tilt your head up.”

Starsky obliged, and Hutch gently laid the ice pack against the shiner that had developed on Starsky’s left eye.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Hutch said with affection. “Here, hold that on with your right hand, and gimme your left.”

Starsky chuckled a little and did as he was told. Hutch took the strangely delicate hand into his own and ran it under some cold water, washing away the blood. He’d always been fascinated by Starsky’s hands, that they could be so small and finely boned, and yet inflict so much damage when needed. Hutch dried off the knuckles with a clean paper towel and fetched some ointment from the bathroom, which he applied to the cuts.

Starsky waited patiently throughout the ministrations, still holding the cold pack to his face, his other eye exhibiting some amusement.

“You know, if I was thirteen coming home with a shiner and chewed up knuckles, my Aunt Rose would’ve spanked me and sent me up to my room already.”

“You’d prefer a spanking?” Hutch lifted one eyebrow, and Starsky chuckled.

Hutch took the ice pack from him and examined Starsky’s eye, touching it as gently as possible. “You see okay? Close your other one and make sure nothing’s blurry.”

“It’s fine, Hutch.” They were standing so close Hutch felt the breath of Starsky’s response against his own face. He shivered, and saw something glint in Starsky’s good eye. Hutch stepped back, suddenly not in the mood for more of Starsky’s teasing flirtations.

“Yeah, well.” Hutch handed him the ice pack and went to fetch his beer. He leaned back against the counter. “So, whodunit? Or, more to the point, should I see the other guy?”

“I don’t think so, Hutch. See…it was Rik.” Starsky ducked his head quickly as if to avoid another blow.

“R-Rik? Where in hell did you see Rik?”

“I…drove down there. I wanted to know—”

Hutch shoved away from the counter, sudden panic cutting through him. “You went to see him?” He spun and caught Starsky’s nod. “What did you…what did he tell you? Christ.”

“He didn’t tell me anything, Hutch,” Starsky said reassuringly, his hands out. He’d dropped the ice pack on the counter, and Hutch noted absently that it threatened to drip moisture onto the floor.

“But why, Starsky? Why did you go after him? I told you it was _my_ fault.” Hutch rubbed his forehead, feeling tension there. “Is he…is he okay?”

Starsky closed his eyes, the left one pooching out slightly from the inflammation. “He’s fine. Busted him one in the chops, is all. He just said something that…pissed me off.” Starsky approached him hesitantly, and Hutch waited, staring into Starsky’s eyes, silently demanding an explanation.

“He wouldn’t tell me why you two called it quits, told me to ask you myself. I told him I have been, but you wouldn’t tell me either. Still, he gave me a couple of clues. So I tried to figure it out for myself.”

Starsky was close now, a few feet away, and Hutch waited anxiously for the boom to fall.

“He said it was something you wouldn’t…do. Hutch, did he ask you to move down to Encinitas? Did he ask you to be his partner?”

Hutch’s eyes closed involuntarily with relief. _He doesn’t know. Rik didn’t tell him._

“He was going to ask me that, he said. We never got that far,” Hutch said carefully.

Starsky looked surprised, his face going slack. “But if that wasn’t it…then why? And how come you won’t tell me? I thought it was because he was trying to split us up and you wouldn’t let him.”

“I wouldn’t have, you know that.” Hutch blew out a sigh. “It’s true, he wanted something I couldn’t give him.” He turned away and slumped down into his easy chair, watching Starsky’s face as he continued to puzzle it out.

Finally, Starsky shook his head in defeat. “Look, Hutch, I didn’t really come over here to talk about Rik.”

“So, what _do_ you want to talk about?” Hutch thought longingly of his abandoned beer. He got up and retrieved it and picked up Starsky’s as well, bumping the bottle against Starsky’s arm until he took it. Then Hutch sat down again, this time on the couch, and Starsky came over to sit next to him.

“I wanted to talk about…us.”

_Uh, oh. That doesn’t sound good._ Hutch’s hand tightened on his bottle.

“What’s wrong with ‘us’?”

Starsky sighed. “There’s nothing _wrong_ , Hutch. That’s the problem. We’re perfect together. So perfect that we keep losing people because of it. People keep trying to get between us, and they get crushed. Like Rik.”

Hutch felt a shiver travel down his spine. It was almost like Starsky was saying…but no.

“I told you before, Starsk—you’re it. If nobody else can get in, it’s because I want it that way.” And it was true, Hutch realized. Even though they couldn’t be as close as he wanted them to be, he would never give up what he did have with Starsky.

The thought eased some of the longing ache in his heart.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Hutch. It’s the price we pay for our friendship. Only…” Starsky swallowed suddenly, and Hutch felt another shiver.

“Only…?” Hutch prompted, dreading what he was about to hear but unable to prevent himself from asking. _This is it. He’s going to say the price is too high._

“Only...what if we could have it all? Together?”

Starsky’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper, and at first the words didn’t make sense, as if this were another one of Starsky’s nonsensical side-trips into the Outer Limits.

And then what he was suggesting struck home—hard—and suddenly Hutch was halfway across the room, beer sloshing from the open bottle and onto his trembling hand. He hastily put it down on the end table.

“You’re crazy,” Hutch whispered hoarsely, then raised his voice. “You’ve gone completely screw-loose.”

Oddly, Starsky didn’t seem at all offended by his reaction. In fact, after a moment he smiled slowly and relaxed back against the cushions, taking a sip of his beer. Hutch shook a little under his gaze.

“That seems kinda strange coming from a guy who names his plants,” Starsky commented lightly. “And what’re you doing way over there, Hutch? Y’afraid I’m gonna jump you or something?”

_Jesus Christ. He’s **enjoying** this. _ “What the _hell_ did Rik tell you?”

Starsky looked puzzled for a second, then his face cleared. He smiled up at Hutch. “I never did tell you why I slugged him one, did I? I was just about to leave, and he told me to ask you...” Starsky let it hang.

“Ask me what, damn it.”

“Why you never let him fuck you,” he said succinctly.

Hutch felt the blood leave his head dizzyingly fast, only to flood upward again two seconds later, flushing him with embarrassing heat.

“At the time,” Starsky continued, “I thought he was just trying to get a rise. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d left without getting any of the information I needed. But I guess I was wrong, huh? That last clue was the whole story.”

Starsky put down his beer and rose deliberately to his feet. Hutch watched him warily as he approached. Five feet, four, three, and then only two feet separated them, and Starsky was looking up into his eyes.

“Why, Hutch?” Starsky demanded. “Why wouldn’t you give him that? What else didn’t you give him that he wanted? What didn’t you say that he needed you to say?”

_He knows. He already knows the answer to those questions._ And, incredibly, it appeared Starsky actually wanted to hear him say it.

Hutch’s heart throbbed heavily in his chest. He licked his suddenly dry lips, and then opened his mouth.

“I love you. I’m in love with you, Starsk.”

Starsky closed his eyes and smiled. When he opened them again, they were gleaming deep. “God, I was hoping that was it.”

Hutch caught his breath and swallowed. “Does that mean...?”

“It means what you think, Blondie,” Starsky said, his voice softer than Hutch had ever heard it. “It means I love you something crazy.”

_Oh, my God, I think he means it._ Hutch’s chest expanded until it almost hurt.

“What are you supposed to do when someone offers you everything you’ve ever wanted in this world?” he whispered hoarsely.

A small frown caught Starsky’s forehead, and the gleam sharpened in his eyes.

“I think you’re supposed to kiss him,” he said.

_God, yes. Kiss him._ Hutch closed the gap between them and did just that. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they closed against his will, almost as if it were too much to bear—the sight of Starsky kissing him.

Almost immediately, the lips beneath his started moving, and any doubt Hutch still held that Starsky wanted this was easily obliterated by the feeling of Starsky’s tongue demanding entry into his mouth. Hutch stifled a moan and opened for him, sucking at Starsky’s tongue, pulling him in.

They kissed hungrily. Hutch couldn’t get enough of the taste of him, and his tongue repeatedly dipped into Starsky’s mouth. At the same time, it seemed Starsky was doing his damnedest to shove his tongue right down Hutch’s throat.

Starsky broke away and Hutch became aware that he was gripping the dark head too tightly, the short curls twisting between his fingers. He eased his hold and panted as Starsky’s lips started charting Hutch’s cheek before running up to his temple.

Then Starsky was whispering in his ear, “So jealous, I was so jealous when I saw the two of you...” Starsky nuzzled Hutch’s earlobe, and Hutch shivered, the husky sound of Starsky’s voice traveling down his neurons and straight to his balls.

“I thought, only I didn’t really realize…but I think I was thinking, ‘That could be me. That _should_ be me, being touched by Hutch.’”

Hutch sighed and slipped his arms around Starsky’s waist, holding him tight.

“This isn’t weird at all,” Starsky said in a tone of wonder. “It’s just us.”

Hutch groaned in delight and pressed his groin closer to Starsky’s.

“Except…I’ve never felt your hard-on before, Hutch.” Starsky now sounded a little breathless, if amused.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Hutch said, pleading.

Starsky laughed and did as he was asked until Hutch started to get dizzy with it. Hutch pulled his mouth away and said, his voice like sand, “Come to bed with me?”

For the first time he saw uncertainty in Starsky’s eyes, and Hutch cupped his cheek with his hand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I don’t want to do anything if you don’t want it, Starsk. Christ, if all I could do was kiss you for the rest of our lives, I’d be happy.”

Starsky smiled, and then his glance turned mocking. “Oh, yeah?”

Hutch lurched when he felt Starsky’s hand on his groin, gripping his erection.

“Oh...yeah.” Hutch echoed with an entirely different inflection.

“Okay, Blintz,” Starsky said, releasing him. “Just don’t expect anything…spectacular. I’m new to this scene.”

_He’s got to be kidding. He could probably make me come just by looking at me._

“I promise I won’t expect much from a total beginner,” Hutch said, grinning when he saw the flash of irritation on Starsky’s face. “In fact,” he said condescendingly, “why don’t you let me handle everything? You just sit back and learn from the Master, Grasshopper.”

Starsky growled in irritation and practically dragged Hutch by the arm toward the bedroom. Hutch laughed almost soundlessly, lightheaded with anticipation and incredulous delight. _Starsky and me. Together._ His erection throbbed in his pants, and he hurriedly rid himself of his clothing, almost tearing his shirt in his haste and stumbling out of his pants. He paused with his hands on his briefs, and looked over at Starsky.

Starsky was bent over, the muscles flexing in his back as he shucked his own pants off. Hutch’s heart took a funny beat, as if it were trying to do a back flip in his chest. _Beautiful._ The well-defined muscles of his abdomen, the dusting of hair on his masculine chest and, God, that ass. That perfectly shaped ass that jutted so arrogantly.

“You’re staring at my ass,” Starsky said, and Hutch lifted his eyes. There was amusement on Starsky’s face, and something else, a little dark and wild, underscored by the black eye.

“Yeah. Well, you have to admit it’s worth staring at,” Hutch said, and he saw Starsky blush a little, just a faint tinge on his cheekbones.

“So’s yours, Hutch. There’s nothing about you that’s not…worth looking at.” Starsky’s eyes dropped pointedly to Hutch’s waist, and with a sigh Hutch pushed down his underwear, easing them over his painfully hard erection.

Starsky muttered, “Jesus Christ,” and it was Hutch’s turn to blush. Starsky walked over to him, still staring at Hutch’s cock. He looked fascinated.

_I don’t think he’s ever really looked at another guy’s erect cock before._ Hutch stood absolutely still, uncertain how to proceed. He knew what he wanted to do, but what did Starsky want?

Starsky answered that question by reaching out and grasping Hutch’s cock. _Oh, dear God_ , Hutch thought, and he had to lock his knees to stay upright.

“You like that, huh?” Starsky said, still sounding somewhat detached, as if he were conducting an experiment. Hutch waited patiently, trying not to thrust into the warm grip. His legs trembled a little with the effort. Starsky stroked him a few times, flexing the flesh of his cock up and down, and Hutch quickly put a warning hand on his shoulder.

Starsky looked up. “That fast on the trigger?”

“Not usually,” Hutch said wryly, and gave a relieved gasp when Starsky released him.

Starsky chuckled a little, and Hutch smiled. But then Starsky said hesitantly, “I dunno, Hutch. Don’t know if I could…it’s pretty big.”

Hutch put both hands on Starsky’s shoulders and shook him a little. “I _told_ you. Nothing you don’t want.”

“But I do, Hutch. I want that. To give you—did you fuck Rik?”

The abrupt question took Hutch by surprise. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean _we_ have to do that. And, anyway, you’re getting way ahead of yourself.” Hutch leaned down and kissed Starsky softly. “Let’s stick with what _you’re_ familiar with.”

Starsky’s face showed his surprise as he deciphered Hutch’s meaning. “You’d let me?”

**_Let_** _you?_ Hutch nodded dumbly. “If it’s what you want.” He shrugged impatiently, “Hell, let’s do _something_ , huh? Before my balls fall off? I’m dyin’, here.”

It startled a snort out of Starsky. “The last of the great romantics.” But the look he gave Hutch was pure affection. He put his hands on his underwear and wriggled them off his hips, and Hutch got his first real look at him.

Starsky’s cock rose proud and blood-red above his heavy balls, the faint purple of his veins twisting like a gnarled roots over the surface of his thick erection.

_Perfect._

“God, you’re beautiful.” Hutch looked up and caught the blush in Starsky’s cheeks, and smiled.

“Never seen you look at me like that,” Starsky said, his voice husky.

“Then you really weren’t paying attention,” Hutch said, and let a sly grin twist his mouth.

Next thing he knew, Starsky was in his arms, his mouth hot against Hutch’s neck. “I was so stupid that I almost missed it,” Starsky muttered, and then he was kissing Hutch once again, moving against him. At first, Hutch was worried about letting his erection touch Starsky. It would be alien to him. Hutch well remembered how disconcerting it was, the first time he’d felt a man’s bare cock against him.

But Starsky shoved his hips forward purposefully and moaned when they touched, skin to skin. Hutch awkwardly pulled him sideways until they both fell onto the bed. And then the groping, heated madness began in earnest. Hutch strained against his partner, feeling his blood rush higher and hotter, shivering at the sound of Starsky chanting in his ear.

“Hutch…Hutch….”

He couldn’t breathe; Starsky’s lips and tongue were stealing his air. Starsky’s rough cheek brushed against his and he knew he’d be raw in the morning. Anyone with half an eyeball would know that Hutch had been kissing his partner.

_Let ’em,_ he thought deliriously.

Starsky reached between them to grasp Hutch’s cock once again.

“Love to feel it in my hand, Hutch,” Starsky whispered, and started stroking him. Hutch wanted to reciprocate, but his body was responding mindlessly now, buttocks flexing, and he thrust upward into Starsky’s tight grip. And then Hutch arched his back and came. A fluid rush swept through him to shoot from his cock, and he cried out again and again, unable to bear the pure pleasure.

He came back to himself to the sound of his own harsh breathing and Starsky saying something, his voice low and hushed.

“You’re the beautiful one, Hutch. To see you like that.…”

Hutch moaned and turned to grab Starsky’s hand, kissing it reverently before cleaning it with his tongue. He pressed some kisses against the bruised knuckles. Starsky’s eyes closed and he bumped his hard-on against Hutch’s hip, reminding him to get a move on.

“Now, you,” Hutch whispered, and he put his mouth to work on Starsky’s chest, pushing him flat to suckle at the tiny nipples that were already taut with excitement.

How often had he longed for the chance to use his mouth and lips and teeth and tongue on Starsky’s chest, his torso, the lines of his ribs and crease of his abdomen? How many erotic dreams had woken him with his mouth full of Starsky’s cock? He went to it now, impatient for his first taste, and took Starsky’s erection into his hand.

Starsky seemed to freeze under him when he realized Hutch’s intent, and Hutch reined himself back, raising his head to check on him.

Starsky was staring down, the blue of his eyes narrow slits between the thick lashes. Hutch waited for a sign. _Do you want this?_

One fine hand lifted to Hutch’s cheek, then sank into his hair and gently, gently nudged down.

Hutch smiled and bent over, taking the wide, smooth head into his mouth. Starsky gave a muffled cry, and Hutch began to suck, wetting the shaft with this tongue as he went down.

“God. Oh, babe,” Starsky whispered brokenly, and Hutch sank lower until the crown met his soft palate. And then he swallowed Starsky in.

Starsky’s hips bucked and he groaned his pleasure, his hands moving restlessly in Hutch’s hair. Hutch now had the entire shaft in his mouth, and he moaned around it as he slipped his hands below Starsky to squeeze the twin cheeks of his ass. They flexed beneath his fingers, and Starsky cried out again and moved his hips.

Hutch fell into the rhythm of it, using his throat muscles and his tongue to caress the thickness filling him. _Tasting Starsky._ He memorized the taste and scent, bittersweet and musky.

It wasn’t long before Starsky’s hips started moving more erratically, and his steady groaning rose in pitch. Hutch reluctantly released one cheek to fondle Starsky’s sac, rolling and squeezing. And then Starsky grunted and gripped his head hard, and he came into Hutch’s throat, his body arching on the bed, tight as a drum. Hutch rode the wave, swallowing convulsively and milking the balls in his hand. Then the shaft in his mouth seemed to collapse, and Starsky with it.

Starsky sighed and Hutch carefully curved his lips over Starsky’s cock, cleaning it of saliva and semen as it left his mouth. He deposited a damp kiss on the base where it met Starsky’s balls.

The hands in his hair had relaxed their grip, and now they ran through the wet strands, pushing Hutch’s hair from his face in a curiously tender gesture.

“Hutch.” Starsky said, and Hutch raised his head to meet Starsky’s eyes.

_This is it, I guess. I’ve sucked his cock. What’s more, he knows I loved every second of it._ He could practically hear Starsky’s words back at the Pits.

“Don’t look like that, babe,” Starsky said, and he tugged at Hutch’s shoulder until Hutch crawled up the mattress to join him.

Starsky reached around him to pull Hutch into an embrace. “What you did to me…Jesus, Hutch. No one’s ever—”

Hutch felt a flash of pain and an odd deflation, as if the last hour had turned out to be just another one of his erotic dreams, leaving him empty in the light of day. _Yeah, I give a great blowjob._

Starsky seemed to sense his withdrawal, for his arms tightened around Hutch.

“Maybe you’re not getting such a great bargain, Starsk,” Hutch said, his voice low.

Starsky sighed into his ear. “Shoulda known you wouldn’t even be able to enjoy a good afterglow,” he murmured. “What’s going on in that pinball game you call a brain?”

Hutch said in a whisper, “I don’t deserve you. Here you are, taking such a huge step to be with me, and I…God, I regret every man I slept with that wasn’t you. And every woman too.” Hutch laughed painfully. “You know, I remember when I first…made love to Rik, I actually apologized in my head. Not to him, I realize now, but…to you.” Hutch pulled his head back to meet Starsky’s gaze.

“Don’t you see, Starsk? You’ve never done this before. You’re doing it for me, I guess. Because you-you care. But me, I feel like I have nothing to offer you. No sacrifice to prove how much this means to me. It’s just what I’ve been doing, in a hundred empty, pointless nights…crap.” Hutch pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed. “I love you. So much. But I don’t know if that’s offering very much.”

He heard Starsky sigh and felt the bed dip, and suddenly Starsky’s thighs were on either side of his own, his strong arms wrapping high around his chest.

“Hutch, why d’you have to make things so damned complicated, huh?” The arms squeezed him tighter before Starsky continued, his chin resting on Hutch’s shoulder. “You just made me come so hard I almost lost my fillings. But do you think it was your incredible technique that made me feel that way? Nuh-uh. It was you. That _you_ were doing it for me.”

Hutch’s heart lifted a little.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah. I know you’re a little messed up in the head when it comes to relationships, but this is _us_ damn it. We’re in an entirely different class.”

Hutch smiled and dropped his chin against Starsky’s arm.

Starsky laughed a little and butted his head lightly against Hutch’s. “Besides, don’t go around thinking you’re such hot stuff. You could still use a little more training.”

“Oh, really?” Hutch said, going for indignant.

“Yeah. Just for example, I really like a finger up my ass during a blowjob.”

Hutch gave a startled snort that turned into a serious laugh. Starsky joined him, his chest jerking against Hutch’s back.

“And…speaking of asses—according to Rik, you _do_ have something that is still pure. And lily white fresh.” Starsky’s chuckle turned dark, and Hutch felt the hair on his neck lift.

“It’s true, I never did that. With anyone,” Hutch admitted, and he could feel his ears turning red.

“So? Your ass is mine, all mine, Hutchinson.”

“Only yours,” Hutch agreed in a whisper, and turned within Starsky’s arms to press him back down onto the bed.

_Only, ever, yours._

~*~*~

Starsky came slowly awake, his hand already rubbing his own belly, palm sliding up and down sensually. He arched and stretched, feeling incredibly relaxed, then turned to look at Hutch, who was sprawled beside him, long legs spread and hands buried under the pillow.

_Mine, all that delicious skin and muscle and bone. All mine._ It was a crazy, possessive thought, like he could do whatever he wanted with the big body beside him. Crazy, but true. Hutch had given him everything. Starsky could never remember a lover being as open, as passionate, as completely giving as Hutch had been of himself last night.

_Hutch was lying before him, those incredible legs wide apart and his ass propped high. Starsky put his hands on Hutch’s butt with some hesitancy; he’d never even done this with his girlfriends. But Hutch was willing, and Starsky wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Hutch, to have that ultimate experience of knowing him intimately, of feeling him from the inside._

_Starsky spread Hutch’s cheeks and looked at the tiny opening that awaited him._

_“No way, Hutch,” Starsky said. “There’s just no way I’m gonna **fit** in there.”_

_Hutch laughed, his ass shaking with the movement. “You will. I swear. Just take it slow, okay? I wanna be able to walk tomorrow.”_

_The joking helped. Starsky’s hand was trembling a little as he dipped some Vaseline and smoothed it around the wrinkled flesh of Hutch’s asshole. Hutch sighed with enjoyment, so Starsky kept doing it, moving his thumb around and around, forcing some of the goop inside. Then his thumb popped in momentarily and Hutch jerked._

_“Sorry, sorry,” Starsky said._

_“It’s **fine** , Starsk. Keep going.”_

_Starsky slipped his index finger inside, feeling the incredible tightness and wondering how in hell he would ever be able to wedge his cock in there. But his finger moved easily deeper, and Hutch had started making sounds like he was enjoying the sensation. Starsky knew what that was about. He liked having a finger inside his own ass; of course, it was usually a slim, woman’s finger. But he loved it especially when she would go deep enough…Starsky moved his own finger deeper, skimming along the bottom, spreading the lubricant on the delicate skin._

_And then Hutch’s hips jumped, and he clenched around Starsky’s finger, giving a groan. Starsky smiled and crooked his finger at the spot, the small, raised spot beneath his fingertip that had Hutch moaning and wriggling his hips. **Gonna have to hit him right there with my cock** , Starsky thought, and his dick jerked into iron hardness at the idea of fucking Hutch, of moving inside him with a purpose._

_Hastily, Starsky joined his index with his middle finger and slid them both deep. The muscle was stretching, letting him in, and Hutch was making sounds now of pure enjoyment._

_“Feel good, babe?” Starsky asked, just for the pleasure of hearing Hutch say it._

_“Oh, yeah. God, it’s good,” Hutch moaned. “Right there. God, right...ahhh.....”_

_Starsky bent his fingers, stretching the sleek tissue further, and then he couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled out. “Hutch, I’m gonna come into you now,” he said, almost making a question of it._

_Hutch nodded and then he twisted his upper torso to look at Starsky over his shoulder. Something in his eyes made Starsky’s heart give a crazed thump. **Can’t believe he’s going to let me do this to him. My big, tough partner.**_

****  
  


_“Only yours,” Hutch echoed softly, and Starsky smiled, his vision suddenly blurry. He ducked his head and lubed his own cock carefully, coating it thoroughly._

_Hutch had turned again and his body was slightly taut with tension. Starsky wiped his hands on the sheet so he could run them soothingly over Hutch’s lower back. Hutch relaxed a little._

_Starsky edged forward until his thighs were deep between Hutch’s legs, and then he took himself in hand and lowered his hips into position. He slid the slippery head of his cock up until it kissed the entrance to Hutch’s body. Then he pushed._

_But the tight muscle refused him entry. He pushed a little harder, but again it was no go. Frustrated, he gripped himself firmly and applied even more pressure, pushing **hard**. Suddenly, the head of his cock popped past the ring of muscle in a rush, and a fair amount of shaft as well, and Hutch made a stifled sound._

****  
_Oh, God. I’m sorry._  
  
 _Starsky froze and waited in that tight space while Hutch gasped beneath him. Slowly, the muscles of Hutch’s ass eased their chokehold, and Starsky took a deep breath in relief. He put his hands on Hutch’s hips and moved forward more cautiously, slowly sinking into Hutch, groaning with the sensation of it._

_Hutch echoed his groan, his hips twitching, and Starsky knew he’d penetrated deeply enough to reach the spot that would give Hutch the most pleasure. Starsky pumped his hips in and out, in and out, purely focused on the feeling of Hutch around him, enfolding him and squeezing him with his inner muscles. It was incredible. **I’m fucking Hutch. Jesus, I’m fucking Hutch.** Sweat dripped from his forehead to sting his eyes and he shook his head, keeping the same rhythm of thrusting and withdrawing. He used his hands to push and pull Hutch onto him, and Starsky’s balls were gently smacking against Hutch’s ass as he pumped in and out._

_“Ohh. Ohh.” Hutch was moaning, and his hips flexed back as he helped to fuck himself on Starsky’s cock._

**  
_I could do this forever. I could fuck Hutch forever_  
**  
 _, Starsky thought, sliding in and out, in and out, his motions smooth and slow and even. But Hutch’s cries were rising in volume, and he’d started begging. “Don’t...don’t stop. Please, God...Fuck me. Starsk. Fuck me. **Fuck** me.”_

_Starsky’s heart burned at the words, and he started slamming harder, plummeting deep into Hutch’s body on each stroke._

_“Oh, God. Oh, God!” Hutch cried._

_Starsky dropped his hands to the mattress and then reached to capture the heavy swing of Hutch’s balls. He cupped them as he continued to thrust, and Hutch whimpered. Starsky slid his hand up to Hutch’s cock and gripped it firmly, baring his teeth when it made Hutch tightened around him. Starsky knew neither of them could last much longer._

_He pumped Hutch’s cock rapidly, the shaft so thick and hard in his hand it felt like a pole. It began to swell and harden even further, and then Hutch was yelling, his body freezing under Starsky as he came. The cheeks of his ass tightened around Starsky’s cock and the deep muscles convulsed over and over as Hutch shot his load._

_Starsky groaned and stilled his hips, riding it out. Hutch was trembling beneath him in the aftermath, and his upper body had collapsed onto the mattress. Starsky started thrusting again, the new angle allowing him even deeper penetration, and he began grunting, low, animal sounds of pleasure as he plunged hard and deep, pounding into Hutch, chasing his orgasm now, almost frantic for it._

_And he found it finally, impossibly far inside of Hutch, Starsky’s groin pressed flush against Hutch’s ass. He’d never been this deep inside of anyone before. Starsky shuddered hard and came, his eyes squeezed tight and a roar escaping his chest as he shot, waves of pleasure pounding his head and his balls and his cock, which jerked and filled Hutch with his come._

_“God,” he whispered shakily on the final spasm, and he leaned down low over Hutch, covering him with his body. There were tears in his eyes, and he wiped them against the skin of Hutch’s back and then kissed them away, his lips worshipping Hutch’s flesh. “Love you. Love you,” Starsky murmured helplessly._

_When he’d recovered sufficiently he put his arms around Hutch and rolled them both onto their sides. Hutch was still shaking a little, and Starsky tightened his grip, trying to still the tremors. “Babe. Babe,” he whispered. Hutch’s hands gripped his forearms, but he didn’t speak. Starsky was content just to hold him. Forever._

_Finally, Hutch stirred and said with wonder, “You’re still inside me.” But when Starsky started to move, Hutch’s grip tightened. “Don’t,” he said, and he took one of Starsky’s hands and pressed it to his sweat-dampened face, kissing his palm over and over._

_Starsky’s heart gave a lurch of warning, and he bent his head to nuzzle the back of Hutch’s neck, planting his own kisses there._

_“So, **so** much.”_

Starsky’s eyes blurred a little at the memory, and he rolled over to kiss the point of Hutch’s shoulder. Hutch didn’t twitch. _He’s completely wiped._ Starsky smiled and lay back, his mind drifting lazily. Today they were off. Starsky hoped to spend the entire day in bed, with sufficient pit stops to the kitchen and bathroom. Maybe Hutch would fuck him today. Last night, the thought had given Starsky the willies, the mechanics had seemed painful and impossible. But after doing it to Hutch he knew he wanted it, even if the size of Hutch’s cock made him think twice.

Still, if Rik could handle it, Starsky sure the hell could. _He’s mine, now, Navy. I’m sorry, but I ain’t never letting him go._

No, Starsky had plans for his blond blintz. Today they would fuck their brains out. And tomorrow…well, tomorrow they’d be back at their desks, on their beat. The thought of how much hiding they would have to do now, and for all their days, made Starsky feel heavy and tired.

_It’s the price. It’s just the price we have to pay, for being who we are._ And it was no worse than any other price they’d paid over the years, in pain and tears and blood and flesh, for the partnership, for the friendship. _If that’s the price, then we’ll pay it. Gladly._

Hutch finally stirred, mumbling, and rolled over to face him. Starsky stared into the fuzzy, pale blue eyes, his cock already lifting in hunger.

“Hey, Blintz.”

“Hey, yourself,” Hutch said, and his lashes fluttered. “Way you’re looking at me,” Hutch said, his voice husky with sleep, “I feel like a high-class hooker on a yacht cruise.”

“Permission to come aboard?” Starsky said, leaning in close and taking the smiling lips for a kiss. Hutch’s hand drifted to Starsky’s chest and ruffled the hair there before he pulled back.

“Sure you can afford me?” Hutch asked, his pale brow arching.

“Oh, yeah,” Starsky whispered. “And worth every penny.”

  
_Fin._  


_July, 2005_

_San Francisco, CA_  
  
---


End file.
